Inevitable
by DMHP2014
Summary: *Part 2 WIP* The war raged and darkness swept like a plague throughout the lands, leaving behind rot and ruin in its wake. Voldemort tore down the old to rebuild the new, a new world as he saw fit. Where do Hermione and Draco stand in all this? Will they find each other again? And above all, can Hermione forgive him? DRAMIONE. INESCAPABLE PART 2!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **If you haven't read 'Inescapable' please read that first. This story won't make much sense otherwise. For those who have already read Inescapable, welcome back! I hope you enjoy the second part of the story.

* * *

**Inevitable by DMHP2014**

* * *

**~ A Prologue of Sorts ~**

* * *

If someone had told Hermione that she would be fighting in a war for years with no end in sight, she wouldn't have believed them.

If someone had told her that the world she knew and loved would cease to exist, leaving behind only rot and ruin in its wake, she would have snorted and told them to stop being ridiculous.

Back then she was young and so foolishly naive, it never once occurred to her that they wouldn't win the war against Voldemort. She didn't think for a second that they would be anything other than the crowned victors, conquerors of evil, saviours of the wizarding world. And why would she? Everything had gone so smoothly.

At least, looking back it seemed that way.

Hermione, Harry and Ron had found and destroyed all the remaining Horcruxes in less than a year - nine months and two days to be exact. From the day they disapparated from Bill and Fleur's wedding on 1st August 1997 - after it was ambushed by Death Eaters, to the day they arrived back at Hogwarts castle on 2nd May 1998, in search of Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem - the fifth and second to last Horcrux... _or so they'd thought_.

Voldemort and his army of followers had turned up and stormed the castle grounds, demanding that Harry surrender himself or suffer the consequences. Hermione watched helplessly as terror and chaos swept through the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, unsure how to quell the growing hysteria. After a vicious battle that culminated with them losing family and friends alike, Harry, being Harry, had done just that - _he surrendered -_ the pain of losing Fred, Remus and Tonks proving to be too much.

He managed to slip away from Hermione and Ron as they stood vigil over the fallen in the Great Hall, and he walked into the Forbidden Forrest to submit to the would-be-tyrant, not in fear but despair. Hermione understood why he did it, he couldn't bear to lose another loved one, but that didn't stop her from resenting him, resenting that he sacrificed himself, for what? So that they may live one more day? A week? A month? It wasn't worth it. His life was just as important as anyone else's, but of course he'd never believed that. He'd always blamed himself for Voldemort's actions.

Hermione would later learn that it didn't matter that Harry had sacrificed himself, he _had_ to die in order for Voldemort to be killed. He'd learned as much from the memory Snape had given him as the professor bled out on the floor, moments after Voldemort discovered his deep-rooted treachery and set Nagini on him. As it turned out, there weren't six Horcruxes as they'd originally thought, but _seven_. Harry was the one they hadn't accounted for.

Harry walked into the Forbidden Forest with his head held high, his dead loved ones there with him every step of the way, creating a protective circle around him - _thanks to the resurrection stone_ – Hermione imagined that he welcomed death like an old friend. Death that had followed him since that fateful night in Godric's Hollow, where, as a baby, he defied all odds and survived the killing curse and became _The Boy Who Lived_.

Nobody knew what happened after Voldemort's killing curse hit Harry for the second time in his young life, for Harry to this day has never divulged what actually happened or how he came back, only that he _did_ die - along with the Horcrux inside him. He wouldn't even tell Hermione and Ron. Hermione would never stop wondering what happened, wondering why Harry got that far-off look on his face anytime she brought it up, even years after. But he survived, and that's really all that mattered.

For a short while, Harry pretended to be dead and allowed himself to be paraded around to cheers from the Death Eaters and howls of devastation from his friends and family. Hermione had believed Harry dead just like everyone else had, and the pain of seeing him limp in Hagrid's arms had been all-consuming, something she'd never forget for as long as she lived.

It was then that Neville Longbottom stepped forward, looking defiant and brave beyond his years, as he stood up to Voldemort, the Sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in his hand.

Hermione had tensed, panic surging through her, as Voldemort laughed in the face of what he called a _'stupid and foolish child'. _She almost agreed with him, because what match was Neville against Voldemort? Of course, Neville had proved them wrong when he swept the sword up in a broad arc and brought it back down with a cry of rage, slicing clean-through Nagini who was hanging protectively from Voldemort's neck. The snakes head flew through the air with impressive speed, Voldemort's bellow of outrage the only sound as it hit the floor with a dull, wet thud.

Unbeknownst to Neville, he had just destroyed the final Horcrux.

Harry chose that moment to jump from Hagrid's arms, a bellow of fury tearing from his throat. Hermione's shriek of surprise drowned out by the other gasps and shocked screams echoing around the courtyard.

And this is where it should have ended. This was the point where the light was supposed to claim victory over the dark. But it all went so terribly wrong.

Harry lifted his wand to Voldemort, the killing curse on the tip of his tongue, and Voldemort... Voldermort just _vanished_. Disapparated on the spot.

No one could believe it, especially Hermione, who had been only a few meters away and saw the precise moment he vanished. They all stood there in stunned silence, as Voldemort's followers began disapparating one after the other.

Voices murmured their disbelief - _"What happened?"_ _"Where's he gone?" "Coward!"._ It was incomprehensible. Voldemort had been after Harry for so long. Why flee now and make himself look like a coward? It didn't make any sense.

Hermione walked towards Harry, shock and confusion marring her features, to find him staring at the spot where Voldermort had been, his expression eerily blank. He turned to Hermione then with green eyes as desolate as she'd ever seen them and uttered words that sent a cold chill down her spine.

"_I was warned. _He_ warned me... That was my only chance. It is out of my hands now. We will all suffer for my failure. Torture and suffering are all they'll know... All we'll know. And it's all my fault."_

Hermione had blinked, several questions bubbling to the surface of her mind - _who warned you? When? Who will suffer? What are you talking about? _But she didn't voice any of them, not at that moment. Instead, she held her friend as he wept, not quite understanding the depth of his despair, yet it terrified her all the same. She had never seen Harry like that, so… _defeated_. Despite everything that had happened to him throughout his life, he had always managed to remain somewhat optimistic, the strong one. Why was he talking like it was over? Like they'd lost? They had destroyed all the Horcruxes. The hard part was done. All they had left to do was hunt down Voldemort and send him to the grave.

Regret ate away at her in the years to follow for not demanding that he tell her there and then who'd warned him, and why it was his only chance because, later, whenever she asked him, Harry would claim to not know what she was talking about. He would say he never said such a thing and would gaze at her like she was crazy or making it up. The more she pestered him, the more he would withdraw and refuse to talk. The worst part of all was that she knew he was lying... he was lying to her, _to everyone_, she just couldn't understand why.

After the Failed Battle of Hogwarts, Harry didn't talk to anyone for two months straight, not a single word. He holed himself up in his room at 12 Grimmauld Place and refused to speak, and only ate when Hermione, Ron or Ginny would force food down his throat.

The Order of the Phoenix searched high and low for Voldemort, but he was nowhere to be found. It really was like he'd disappeared.

For months everything was quiet, eerily so. Everything went back to normal, shops reopened, they started to rebuild, and all seemed to be business as usual. But they were all kidding themselves. Voldemort may have vanished, but he wasn't dead, he was still out there, somewhere. Some people would whisper their fears and others would outright claim he wasn't coming back, that he was too scared. Despite the ones that tried to quell the slowly growing panic, there was still an ever-present feeling of dread hanging over the United Kingdom. Even though they tried to stay in high spirits, its residents couldn't help but worry about if - _when_ \- Voldemort would strike again.

They didn't have to wait long.

Six months later darkness swept the entirety of Great Britain, bringing with it horrors too terrible to speak of. Voldemort and his army of Death Eaters - which had grown in strength and size – appeared seemingly out of nowhere on a cold December day – a Wednesday, if Hermione remembered correctly. This time, they didn't hold back. Death and destruction raged for a whole year - mass executions, whole suburbs burned to the ground - while Voldemort tore down the old to rebuild the new. A new world as he saw fit, where "purebloods" were treated as Gods, half-bloods were tolerated, and muggles and muggle-borns alike were tortured and killed or forced into slavery. They didn't stand a chance and it broke Hermione's heart. Voldemort was more brutal and ruthless than they'd ever seen him. He slaughtered and maimed without blinking an eye, all the while a cruel smile curling his lips. It wasn't even about Harry anymore. It was like he'd realised going after Harry would be his downfall, so he'd taken the six months to re-evaluate and plan, recruit new members and build an uncompromising army. He hit back at Harry and the Order of the Phoenix harder than ever by going after the vulnerable. He hit in several places at once, making it impossible for them to fight back and stop what was happening.

It was their worst fears made flesh. Hermione could still smell the stench of burning and rotting bodies years later, the kind of smell that brought you to your knees and made you empty your stomach.

No other countries came to aid Britain. Every single one turned a blind eye after Voldemort promised he'd come for them next if they interfered. And so they didn't, they stayed _far_ away. They left the residents of the United Kingdom to rot in what they called _the ruin of their own making_, as they blamed them for not bringing Voldemort to justice before it was too late. The borders were closed and no one was allowed in or out. No planes, no ships, no apparating, _nothing._

They were trapped inside a war-torn country. The purebloods set up home in several of the major cities - London, Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds and Glasgow - at the behest of King Voldemort, and the rest was dubbed the Wastelands.

The Wastelands was where Hermione and the others who'd managed to escape hid, that included muggles, muggle-borns and traitors. For a while, Voldemort sent his Death Eaters into the Wastelands to try and hunt them all down, exterminate them. Then one day it just stopped, the Death Eaters retreated and Hermione was left wondering, just like everyone else, what had happened. Several rumours bounced around, but only one of them was consistent - Voldemort had finally tired of them. He didn't see them as a threat and as such wouldn't be pursuing them anymore.

Lucky?

Some of them thought so but it soon became evident that luck didn't play any part in it.

A magic-blocker was cast over the Wastelands, preventing any witch or wizard from wielding magic of any sort. They quickly learned not to even attempt magic, for to do so would be like signing a death sentence. There had also been a detection charm put in place and one measly attempt at a spell would have Death Eater's breathing down their necks between one heartbeat and the next.

Voldemort may have left them alone to live their pathetic lives, but he wouldn't allow them to use magic. In his eyes, they weren't worthy of the privilege and had to die if they dared to defy him. So they had all learned to fend for themselves the muggle way.

For some, like Hermione, it was easy, almost like slipping on a pair of old, worn gloves. For others, like the Weasleys, it was hard, and for a time they struggled to adapt.

What was left of the Order of the Phoenix set up their Head Quarters on a huge abandoned estate fifty miles out of the perimeter of London, the perimeter Voldemort had set, which included many towns like Croydon, Twickenham, Dartford and Guildford.

London was huge now, five times the size it used to be. Towns and villages didn't exist anymore. There were just the five cities, where walls had been erected and enforced by magic to keep any unwanted visitors out. There was twenty-four-hour security on the few entrances, making it near-impossible to get inside. The Order did their best to help anyone in need, whilst also trying to gather information on what was happening _behind the wall_.

All five cities were the same - same walls, same security. Hermione had been on several missions where they had tried to infiltrate them, London, in particular, as that's where they suspected Voldemort had settled. Despite their repeat failures, they weren't giving up, they would keep fighting and trying to bring Voldemort down until their last, dying breath.

This was their life now. Searching for food in abandoned shopping centres, growing what they could. Scouting the wastelands to help where needed. Offering supplies to those who were unable to venture far themselves. Recruiting able fighters.

Hermione would occasionally go on missions, but she preferred to spend her time researching, that was where she was most helpful. They didn't have many magical books, only what they'd managed to take with them when the plague had struck - that's what they called the early days, _the plague_. Every so often they would find more books when the scouts happened upon a Witch or Wizards house that had been abandoned.

They learned to adapt. They learned to survive. They never gave up.

* * *

**~ Chapter 1 ~**

* * *

**_Five and a half years after the astronomy tower - Year: 2002..._**

Hermione woke to the distant sounds of cheering.

_Cheering?_

She frowned, lifted her head and straightened, her back protesting at the sudden movement. It took her a moment to sort through her thoughts and take in her surroundings.

She was in the Hub, sat at one of the desks, the book she'd been reading - _Shields, Wards and Protective Enchantments by Felicity O'Pry_ \- still open in front of her.

Shit, she'd fallen asleep again. This was the fifth night in a row that she'd spent slumped in an uncomfortable chair.

Hermione rubbed at her tired eyes and glanced around the large room, wondering if anyone else had fallen asleep last night. She and some of the other Researchers had been poring over the books that had been recovered a few weeks prior from a house in, what used to be, the lovely city of Winchester. But she was alone, which meant they had either been sensible and gone to bed when they'd felt themselves nodding off, or had already woken up in a similar state as Hermione and left to find out what all the racket was about. She should probably do the same, for the noise did seem to be getting louder by the second, but she was _tired_ and aching all over. A few more minutes wouldn't do any harm. Besides, the sounds weren't screams for help - in fact, they were rather jubilant.

Hermione rolled her left shoulder and reached for the glass that had about two fingers of water left in it. She drained it in one, her thirst not ebbing in the slightest. She hoped that someone had been to fetch more water from the nearby stream, and furthermore, had the foresight to filter it. Hermione had drunk unfiltered water from the stream only once in the time she had been there, something she would never do again. The memories of how sick she'd been still gave her shivers. It was in those moments that the loss of magic was unbearable. It was hard enough at the best of times, but when you saw someone suffering and you knew a simple spell or potion could fix them right up, it made the whole thing seem so much worse. It didn't help that they were short on muggle medical supplies, either, because even without magic, muggle medicine was better than nothing at all.

These thoughts soured her already tempestuous mood and she gritted her teeth angrily. They had lost too many witches, wizards, men, women and children to injuries and illnesses. Injuries and illnesses they should have been able to heal or cure in a heartbeat without much effort. It was a sore subject among the community, one that bred bitterness and anger more than any of the other challenges they were facing - _had_ been facing, for _years_ now.

Hermione sighed deeply and tried to push the toxic thoughts away. There was no use dwelling on the unfortunate aspects of their situation. Hermione and the others found it was better - wiser and more productive_ -_ to try and stay positive and focus on what they did have, instead. For instance, at least for the time being, they had their lives and a roof over their heads. That certainly counted for something, especially when there was a time, a few years back, when every time they went to sleep they were almost certain they wouldn't live to see the sunrise the next morning. Being in that mindset for months on end definitely put things into perspective.

In the early days of the plague, Voldemort's Death Eaters had hunted them day and night for close to five months. Hermione didn't like to think of those days, whenever she did, the memories took her to a dark place in her mind, a place that rotted and festered and shrouded her in misery. Of course, Voldemort eventually got bored and left them alone... he got _bored. _Bored of hunting them down and enslaving or slaughtering them as if the whole thing were some sort of game. Hermione supposed it was to him. It made her sick to think about it.

Thankfully those days were over.

As soon as Voldemort and his Death Eaters retreated behind their towering walls, the Order of the Phoenix commandeered a Manor in Cholderton, Salisbury. It was as close to the wall of London they were willing to live, whilst still feeling comfortable and somewhat safe. So yes, after everything they'd been through, a roof over their head was a blessing, and one they didn't take for granted. And, yes, they may not have magic to heal their wounds or cure their illnesses anymore, but they were thankful for the life they _did_ have, the life that still ran through their veins despite everything that had happened to them.

They were survivors. Not quitters.

As for the manor, they couldn't have asked for anything more. It was huge, with fourteen bedrooms and seven reception rooms. They'd managed to convert the bedrooms to sleep six people apiece, and five out of the seven reception rooms had also been converted into sleeping quarters, each one slept around twenty people. These days, what with newcomers seeking refuge, it was rather cramped, but they made it work. The larger and remaining two reception rooms were turned into common areas, that's where they mostly ate and socialised, but on warm summer days, they all preferred to go outside and spend time in the gardens. There was a giant kitchen, which only kitchen staff were allowed to enter, and the Hub, where the Order of Phoenix worked, planned and strategised.

The Hub was in the very centre of the manor and was where Hermione spent most of her time. Only higher members of the Order of the Phoenix were permitted access and the doors were guarded twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It was where they kept their most valuable supplies, books, and information on Voldemort and any happenings behind the walls. Not that they knew an awful lot about what was happening behind the walls, but every so often, they would come into contact with someone out in the wastes who would claim to know something. The Order would take a statement and document it but was yet to prove if any of the statements were actually true. Some of the things that were mentioned in the statements were so outlandish they were hard to believe, and others were downright terrifying.

Hermione had interviewed a woman once who claimed that Voldemort hosted weekly balls for the rich and pure of blood. She said, for entertainment, King Voldemort would have muggles and muggle-borns slowly tortured on stage as the guests ate their canapes and drank their expensive champagne. How the woman knew this, Hermione didn't know. And no matter how hard Hermione tried, she couldn't get a straight answer from her.

Then there was the gentleman who claimed that Voldemort had turned loopy in recent years and barely left his mansion. Apparently, he was gay now, too, and would have male slaves delivered to his room each night to service him. The thought alone was repugnant. She hoped it wasn't true. What kind of state would the poor men be in afterwards? Voldemort was sadistic in every area of his life, she doubted the bedroom was any different. Again, like with the woman, Hermione couldn't get a straight answer from the gentleman as to where he got his information.

It was very strange.

Believe it or not, these were the more mild rumours floating around. There were whispers of things far worse going on behind the walls, things Hermione couldn't think of without feeling sick to her stomach.

Hermione glanced around the Hub, taking in the worn, mismatched desks, tables and chairs. Every available surface, as well as most of the floor, was covered with piles of books, plans and documents, making the place look like a hoarder's dream. The walls where there weren't floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were covered with more plans, maps and diagrams of the five walled cities. Hermione was sure at one point the Hub used to be a very beautiful and grand library, but now it looked more like a cluttered, rundown office space that was trying to imitate MI5 headquarters on a budget. A lot of the books that had originally been housed there were destroyed during the plague, and now it contained mostly books they'd been lucky enough to find over the years. Hermione still had her own personal collection - the books she'd taken with her Horcrux hunting - but she kept them in her room, deep inside her beaded handbag, which, somehow, still held the Undetectable Extension Charm. She'd read through her collection of books several times, and none of them shed any light on how they could bypass the wards that kept the walls around the cities enforced and the residents of the Wastes firmly outside them. As such, she didn't feel bad about keeping her books to herself.

Hermione stretched her neck and let out a low groan when it cracked loudly. She really needed to stop doing this - sleeping in places other than her bed. Her lack of proper sleep and rest was beginning to show in the shadows under her eyes and the pallor of her skin. Pair that with her not having a decent meal in a few weeks and she was looking rather worse for wear. Hermione wasn't the only one looking like death warmed up, it had been a rough month for all of them. Food supplies were at an all-time low. The scouts who went out daily looking for food in abandoned houses, supermarkets and shops - the ones that hadn't been destroyed by the plague - hadn't been able to find anything nearby. Usually, they would jump in one of the vans and head over to the neighbouring towns, but they'd ran out of petrol and were still unable to source some. They had harvested all they could from their meagre vegetable patch, so all in all, they were in pretty bad shape.

There was another sudden shriek of delight, and Hermione's head was whipping around to look at the door.

She sighed heavily. "I suppose it's time to see what all the fuss is about," she muttered to herself.

Hermione closed the book in front of her, and, after running her hands over her black t-shirt and straightening her blue jeans that had bunched funnily around her ankles, she headed to the door.

She nodded to the two guards, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Anthony Goldstein, as she left the Hub.

"Did you fall asleep again, Hermione?" Anthony asked, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.

"Me?" she mock-gasped. "_Never_," she glanced at him over her shoulder as she was about to turn the corner and winked.

Hermione heard his soft chuckle as she strode down the impossibly long hallway to the front door.

When she stepped outside into the bright morning light, she was met with complete and utter chaos.

She paused on the wide stone porch, eyes bulging as she tried to take everything in at once. She heard Ginny screeching about something or another, but couldn't locate her in all the madness. She saw Hannah laughing uncontrollably with Alicia. And Neville jumping up and down excitedly on the spot, which was very weird indeed. Every occupant of the house - which was around a hundred and forty people - seemed to be in the driveway. People were running every which way, carrying bags, boxes and crates and yelling at each other in disturbingly loud voices.

Hermione, still unsure about what was going on, reached out and stopped the nearest person to her, which just happened to be Mrs Weasley. "Molly, what on earth is going on?" she asked, thoroughly bewildered.

"Oh, Hermione, dear, there you are," she grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. "The boys finally found us some food, a whole van full! Can you believe it? We're saved! If we're careful, there's enough to last for months!"

Molly released Hermione and turned to yell out an order that the food was to be brought straight to the kitchen and no one was to sample _anything_. Seeing as she was head of the Kitchen staff, and she was Molly Weasley - everyone knew it was wise not to mess with her - nobody argued.

Quickly, things began to settle down and where there was previously chaos and disarray, order took place.

Hermione watched, stunned, as box after box, crate after crate, the food was carried into the house.

She spotted Dean and Seamus a little ways away, laughing and joking as they unloaded the last of the boxes from the van. She jumped down from the top step of the porch and headed over to them.

As the boys handed the last box to a very jubilant looking Michael Corner, they turned to each other for an enthusiastic high-five, a whoop of glee piercing the air.

"Hermione!" Dean grinned when he noticed her approaching. "I hope you're hungry, there's going to be a feast tonight!" he pulled Seamus into a bear-hug, apparently unable to contain his excitement. "It'll be so huge it'll give Hogwarts a run for its money!"

Hermione swallowed and her stomach let out a low growl of approval. A feast though? The thought was almost inconceivable after a month of scraps. She shook her head, still very much in shock. "I don't understand. How did you find all this?" she asked, taking in the huge van in front of her. "And where did this van come from?"

She'd never seen the red van before, the three vans they had were all white, dirty and falling apart. This one looked nearly brand new. And clean. _Too clean_. It was strange and left Hermione with an uneasy feeling.

Seamus shrugged as he and Dean jumped down out of the back of the van and slammed the double doors shut. "It's the weirdest thing," he began, taking the proffered rag from Dean and wiping the sweat from his brow. "As you know, we planned to set out early this morning and walk to the next town over, looking for petrol in abandoned cars."

Hermione nodded, she remembered having the conversation yesterday morning before she was called into the Hub.

"Well, we were about half an hour into our trek, hadn't even left the main road yet, and there it was, pulled up on the curb," Seamus let out a short bark of a laugh and threw the rag back at Dean. "I couldn't believe my eyes. It was just sitting there, keys in the ignition, jam-packed full of food -"

"Wait, what?" Hermione interrupted, a deep frown lining her forehead. "What do you mean it was just sitting there, keys in the ignition, jam-packed full of food?" she demanded, her tone low and suspicious.

Dean smirked at her. "We mean just that."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in disbelief as she tried to process what they were telling her. Was she dreaming? She must be. Because who on earth would leave a van full of food on the side of the road for anyone to find? "But... that doesn't make any sense! Who left it there? Didn't you just walk down that way a few days ago?"

"Yeah," Seamus nodded excitedly. "And it wasn't there then, which means it was only left there in the last few days. Everything's fresh!"

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing and more so than that, she couldn't believe that no one was questioning it. "Right, and don't you think that's a little strange? I mean, a van full of food mysteriously left on the side of the road, only a half-hour walk from the Manor?" she gazed at them both imploringly.

"Well, I guess it is a bit strange," Dean agreed, reluctantly. "But come on Hermione. We've got to take a win wherever we can get one."

"_No_," Hermione shook her head sharply. "No, we can't. Not anymore. Something isn't right about this. Look at the van," she thrust her hand out, indicating it. "When was the last time you saw anything this _clean? _Van or otherwise?" There was nothing nice left in the Wastes, everything was filthy, broken and damaged, the roads were covered in litter, and everywhere was overrun with weeds and overgrowth. "Nobody would leave a van full of food unattended. _No one_. Not in the Wastes. Besides, where did it even come from?" she asked, flabbergasted. Why the hell was she the only one concerned about this? "We haven't seen this much food in one place for over a year. None of this makes any sense."

Seamus sighed explosively. He was annoyed with her, she could see it in the way his lips thinned and his blue eyes narrowed at her. "Maybe our guardian angel saw how much we were suffering and decided to help us out?" he suggested, trying for a smile, but it fell short.

Hermione's jaw tightened and her nostrils flared. "There's no such thing as guardian angels. If they existed, they wouldn't have sat back and watched as Minerva died a slow and painful death."

Dean and Seamus blanched at the reminder, and, for a moment, Hermione felt a small pang of guilt for bringing it up when they were all just getting over it.

"We can't eat that food," she gritted. "Someone clearly planted it there for us to find. It's probably the Death Eaters. They've most likely figured out where we are. We always knew this day would come. We're lucky to have stayed in one place for as long as we have. They are trying to poison us. Kill us off, once and for all -"

"Hermione, stop, _stop!" _Dean growled, his temper catching up with Seamus'. "You're getting yourself all worked up. For god's sake, please don't ruin this. The Death Eaters don't give a shit about us anymore. They haven't for a long, _long_ time, and it will stay that way unless we suddenly start causing trouble for them. Seeing as we can't get past those bastard walls, I can't see that happening anytime soon," Dean paused to frown at her. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but was uncertain. "Look," he began with a sigh, face hardening. "If you think they don't know where we are, you're fucking delusional. I know that we all like to pretend that everything's fine and dandy around here and we're hidden out of sight, but they know, Hermione," he paused for emphasis, his dark eyes drilling her to the spot. "They know exactly where we are, they've known all along, they just don't see us as a threat anymore. We're insignificant. _Powerless_. Not worth their time or attention. They wouldn't even waste their energy to poison food and plant it for us to find. That's too easy. They _want_ us to suffer. They want us to scramble around looking for our next meal. They want the hope to slowly drain out of us until there's nothing left but for us to beg for death."

When he finished he was breathing heavily, his chest visibly rising and falling. He was angry, sure, but underneath that was fear. Hermione could see it in the way his eyes darted around her face and the way his fists clenched at his sides.

"OK, this is getting a little too morbid for my liking, let's wind it in a bit, yeah?" Seamus said, trying to diffuse the situation.

Hermione and Dean gazed at each other, Hermione's mind still running away with her. She knew Dean was right, but she couldn't help but worry that the Death Eaters would change their minds one day and decide they weren't so insignificant after all.

"There's nothing wrong with the food, Hermione. It's perfectly fine," Dean said in a last-ditch effort to reassure her, his hands lifting in a placating manner.

"How do you know that, though?" she demanded. "You don't know if it's poisoned or not."

Seamus pressed his lips together and breathed heavily through his nose. "Actually, yeah, we do. We already ate some," he confessed, crossing his arms defensively, as if anticipating Hermione's wrath.

"You did _what?!" _she bellowed. "How could you be so fucking stupid! You could have died, you idiots!"

Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, well, we didn't," he reached out to her slowly, as if he was reaching out to a small skittish animal. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "We're _fine_. There's nothing wrong with the food. You need to relax and just accept it for what it is - a shitload of food that will keep us fed for months."

Hermione wanted to say more, but there was no use arguing, especially because they'd already tried the _fucking food_. Jesus! If they'd lost Dean and Seamus... She swallowed hard, she didn't want to think about that. She'd grown close to both of them over the last few years, almost as close as she was to Harry and Ron. Their death would have been felt by all, and that's not to mention that they were valued members of the team, they would all be screwed without them.

She still didn't trust that the van had just been left on the side of the road for them to find. Who had left it? And what was their game? Why not just bring it directly to the manor? She was under no illusion that it hadn't been specifically left for them. Because it was obvious that it had. But, why? Why now?

Hermione remembered something strange like this happening around a year ago. Only that time it had been a huge tank of petrol that they'd found in a shed when it just so happened they were desperately in need of some for an upcoming scouting mission. Dean and Seamus swore black and blue that they had already checked that particular shed - which was only several properties away - and it definitely hadn't been there. Everyone laughed it off and told them they mustn't have looked hard enough, but Hermione had always thought it strange. She didn't believe that the boys could've missed a huge tank full of petrol, it was impossible with the size the thing. Yet, no one else questioned it, so she was forced to put it from her mind.

Now_ this_, with the food. It brought it all back along with a few other weird things that had happened over the years.

Was it just a coincidence? Or was it someone playing with them?...

Or, maybe, it was like Seamus had suggested, and they really did have a guardian angel looking out for them from time to time.

Hermione's train of thought paused as she glimpsed a shock of curly, jet-black hair and golden-brown eyes before they quickly disappeared into the dilapidated greenhouse around the side of the manor. She stared at the empty space where they'd been, her heart kicking up a notch.

There was a loud clearing of a throat and Hermione quickly looked away, a guilty expression on her face.

Seamus scowled towards the greenhouse, making his disapproval known. "Has there been an update on the whereabouts of Harry and Ron?" he asked, turning back around to gaze at her. "They should be back soon, shouldn't they?"

Hermione knew why he _really_ brought up Harry and Ron - not because he wanted to know when they were coming back from their mission, but because he was hoping to dissuade her from what she was obviously about to do.

"I don't know, Seamus," Hermione answered, a tight smile firmly in place. "It's probably best to ask Ginny, as she tends to know more about their whereabouts than I do. I'll see you two later," she added as she started towards the greenhouse.

She heard Dean grumble something under his breath but couldn't make out exactly what was said. It didn't matter though, she was sure she wouldn't like whatever he'd said anyway. Besides, she didn't care what they thought. She was her own person and could do whatever the hell she liked. She just wished people would stop getting involved in what she chose to do outside of the Order of the Phoenix.

* * *

Hermione squeezed through the broken door to the greenhouse and glanced around. It was dark, due to the overgrowth and dirty windows that were layered with filth from years of neglect.

She stepped further inside, wondering whether to take the aisle on the left or the one on the right. The one on the left was rarely used and she could tell that it would be difficult to fight her way through with all the overgrowth. The one on the right had been chopped back, making it much easier to navigate.

She deliberated for a few moments longer before deciding to take the one on the left. And just as she'd thought it would be, it was a nightmare to walk through.

Twigs and branches caught on her clothes, tangled in her hair and scratched her exposed skin, causing her to hiss, wince and swear colourfully.

Hermione was already considering turning back around when, suddenly, the over-grown greenery opened up into a sizeable space.

Well, this was new.

Someone had obviously been in there and tidied it up recently - she could still detect the smell of freshly chopped branches and leaves.

There was a dirty, old fold-out table in the centre of the space that she assumed must have been used to prune plants when it had been a lovely, functioning greenhouse. Now, it was a mess. There was no denying it. Hermione was sure that if the former owners saw it now they would be heartbroken - not just about the greenhouse, but the manor in general.

The manor was originally owned by Brian Hammersmith, a wealthy businessman with a penchant for tennis. Hermione knew this from the few documents they'd found that hadn't been burned and the handful of pictures recovered from the rubble. He had a beautiful wife, Mary, and three children - Ashley, Jane, and Christopher.

Hermione could imagine Mary spending hours in the greenhouse, tending to luscious Geraniums, pink Petunias, and vibrant roses. She often wondered what happened to the Hammersmith family. Had they run away? Or had they perished here? Perhaps they had been enslaved and taken behind the wall. Hermione hoped not, for their sake she hoped they had escaped before the borders were closed, or at least died a swift death. Because death was better than torture and enslavement.

There was the sound of a twig snapping directly behind her and Hermione whirled around, gasping.

She stared up into golden-brown eyes, only a few shades lighter than her own, and tensed.

An internal monologue instantly started up in her mind - _what am I doing here? I promised myself it would stop. This isn't fair. It's cruel. Have I sunk so low that I can be this heartless? Am I heartless?... Am I? Am I? Am I?_

Hands gripped her hips and warm lips found her neck, and before Hermione realised what she was doing, her fingers were already diving into thick, wavy hair, as one word resounded like a drumbeat in her mind.

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

The lips at her neck trailed up to her jaw, then her cheek, and the corner of her mouth.

Hermione spun away quickly and placed her palms flat on the fold-out table, her molars clenching together.

There was nothing for a moment, and she wondered if she'd been left alone, but then those hands were back on her hips, and something hard was pressing into her from behind.

She licked her lips and let loose a sigh of relief, her core clenching in anticipation as she felt her jeans being undone and carefully eased down her thighs.

She resisted the urge to yank them down herself and instead balled her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms and eliciting a sweet zing of pain.

After what felt like an age, there was finally a hardness pressing at her core and she pushed back eagerly, feeling herself expand and stretch, but not in the way she'd been hoping.

She wasn't sure what she'd been hoping for. She already knew what to expect. Yet, she couldn't help the black hole of disappointment that opened up inside her.

Despite it, Hermione leaned forward so that her front was flush with the table, and rotated her hips invitingly.

A breathy moan reached her ears and she closed her eyes tightly, grasping at the tiny thread of pleasure inside her.

Skin slapped, breaths hitched and the table squeaked, as seconds turned into a minute, then two, then...

"_Arrrrrgggghhhhhhhhhh,_" came a long, drawn-out moan, far sooner than Hermione had anticipated.

She buried her face in her arms, as a heavy weight slumped on top of her and a voice whispered in her ear. "That was so good. Did you come?"

Did she come? Really?

Hermione took several deep, calming breaths before turning her head and staring into dilated golden-brown. "Yes," she lied, trying her hardest to muster a smile.

It must have been sufficient enough because there was a flash of a smile and then lips were descending on hers and, suddenly, Hermione felt the very familiar waves of panic starting to stir inside her, and she just...

"Simon, _don't!_" she hissed, straightening up and effectively shoving his weight off her.

Simon sighed deeply, and Hermione turned away from him as he reached down to remove the spoiled condom.

"Is this how it's always going to be?" he asked dejectedly, his tone quiet and almost sad.

Hermione tugged her jeans up and whirled on him, teeth gritted. "I _told_ you how it was going to be when this first started. I've always been honest with you and I've never lied," she nearly choked on the words, because that in itself was a lie. She'd lied to him so many times and she'd only known him, what?... five months? "If you're not happy with this arrangement and you want to end it, then just say so. I'm not stopping you."

Simon finished fastening his trousers and held his hands up defensively, his eyes widening with surprise. "Woah, there. I never said I wanted to end it. I was just wondering if things are ever going to change. It's always the same, we... _you know_, and then you leave. We hardly ever talk. You're always so distant, and when I try to get to know you more, you always shut me down -"

"Simon," she sighed tiredly and pinched the bridge of her nose. Why was he doing this now? He'd been silently going along with it for months. "We're fucking. We're not in a relationship. There's no need to "_get to know each other_" or anything like that. That's the whole point of this arrangement. It's just about sex, _that's all_."

"I know, but I thought -" he began, glancing at his feet.

"You thought what?" she pressed. "That I would change my mind?" she shook her head. "That's never going to happen. I'm sorry if you were hoping otherwise."

Simon looked at her and bit his bottom lip, rejection shining in his eyes. "Fine, I understand. Forget I said anything."

Hermione threw her hands up and groaned. Now she felt like a heel. Why was she always the bad guy? This was exactly why she should stop doing this. She knew it wasn't fair. It was cruel.

"Can I just ask one thing?" he clasped his hands together, almost as if in prayer. "Then I promise I'll drop it and I won't mention it again."

Hermione crossed her arms, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "_Fine_. Go on."

"Why won't you let me kiss you?" he asked, brow puckering in confusion.

Hermione instantly stiffened, her entire body going so taut her spine ached.

"If it's just about sex, then I should be able to kiss you too," he continued, oblivious to Hermione's internal turmoil. "Isn't kissing part of it?"

She was silent for what felt like aeons, heart racing, palms sweating, temples throbbing. "No," she eventually rasped, her mouth as dry as sandpaper. "Kissing isn't part of it."

"But, why?..." he pushed, his face clouding with further confusion. "Why don't you want to kiss me? Is it me? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, _no_," she brought her hand up to her head. She could feel a headache starting to brew behind her eyes. "It isn't you."

"Well, what is it, then? Did someone hurt you?" he asked, looking concerned now. "An ex, maybe? Is that why?"

Images of mussed blonde hair and piercing silver eyes flashed in her mind before she forcibly shoved them out and slammed the door on them. "I don't want to talk about it," she gritted, angrily. "It's none of your fucking business why. I don't want to kiss you and that's the end of it. As I said, if you want to end this, then do so. I understand if it's becoming uncomfortable for you."

Simon frowned at her, wholly disappointed. "I don't want to end it, Hermione. I really don't. I just don't know how this arrangement is going to work in the long run. You have serious issues –"

"Serious issues?" Hermione blurted, scoffing indignantly. "Who the hell are you to tell me I have serious issues?"

Simon visibly cringed. "No, that's… I didn't mean to offend you. I meant it in the most respectful way possible."

Hermione shook her head, her anger palpable. "Telling someone they have serious issues isn't respectful, Simon," she snapped, her cheeks burning.

How _dare_ he. He may not have meant to offend her, but a little tact wouldn't go amiss. Hermione knew she had issues, she didn't need it carelessly thrown in her face like that.

Simon stepped forward, his expression ashamed and apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I really didn't mean it like that. I find it hard to express what I'm trying to say sometimes.

Hermione crossed her arms and scowled, lips pressed into a thin line.

"What I meant is, I know you're hurting – _about something_ \- and I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you ever want to talk," he paused, swallowing thickly. "I hate the thought of you suffering and I'm sad that you feel as though you can't talk to me about it. I'm just worried about you, that's all. This isn't healthy -"

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at her temples. "Simon, _please_. I don't want to talk about this, and I certainly don't need you analysing me and telling me what is and isn't healthy. I'm quite capable of doing that myself, thanks."

She knew that he was ultimately coming from a good place, but this was a difficult and extremely personal topic for her. It wasn't something she could discuss with him, _ever_. He wouldn't understand how she was feeling - she didn't think _anyone_ would understand.

"I'm sorry," Simon breathed as he brought his hands up to his face and pressed his fingers into his eye sockets. "That was out of line. I shouldn't have said anything. You're completely right, it's none of my business. I'm an idiot. Forgive me? Please," he begged, looking tortured.

Hermione dropped her arms to her sides, her heart clenching painfully. God, he didn't deserve this - he didn't deserve to be _used_ like this. Simon was kind, he was. He was sweet and tried to be understanding of what she wanted from him. But that was the fucking problem. What did she want from him? Because she sure as hell didn't know. She was tagging him along, for what? "I... I just..." she trailed off, shaking her head, looking completely lost, not knowing what to say to him.

"Just say you forgive me?" he pleaded, hands pressed together.

Hermione stared at him for a few moments and then nodded slowly. She watched as he let out a small, relieved sigh and smiled tentatively.

_Fuck._ She cursed internally, glancing away from his unmistakably thankful expression, a cold shiver dancing down her spine.

_What are you doing? This is the perfect opportunity to end it with him. Do the right thing. Stop being such a heartless bitch. You'll never change. You'll never be what he wants you to be. This is who you are now._

They were silent for what felt like an age, both stealing quick glances at each other in between long, sweeping gazes around the greenhouse. To say it was awkward would have been an understatement.

"So, how are your friends?" Simon eventually asked, and she could see the effort it took him not to roll his eyes at the ridiculous question, especially after everything they'd just talked about.

Small talk – just what she needed. "They're fine, as far as I'm aware," she answered, mustering a smile.

"Good, good… Speaking of your friends," he gestured with one hand, clearing his throat. "I don't think they like me very much," Hermione's gaze focused on him, a small line appearing between her brows. "Is it because of what's going on between us? Or is it because I'm a... what do you call us again? Muddles?"

Despite it all, Hermione chuckled. "It's Muggles, and no, they don't care one bit that you're a muggle, trust me. It's... well, they can be a little overprotective with me. Don't worry, I'll talk to them."

"OK, thanks," Simon smiled. "It would definitely make things a bit easier. I think the Irish guy put maggots in my bed the other day. I ended up having to sleep on the floor."

_Oh, for Christ's sake!_ Hermione was going to kill Seamus and Dean! Yes, both of them. Because where one was, the other was never too far away. "Sorry about that. I'll talk to them today. I can assure you they won't do it again."

Hermione stared at him a moment, biting the corner of her thumbnail. "I meant what I said, Simon. If this isn't working for you, we can just be friends. I don't want to hurt you. I just... this is all I can be for you. I hope you understand that. I don't want you getting your hopes up thinking that things will change, because they won't."

She couldn't be more blunt than that.

"I understand. I'll take whatever you're willing to give me," he told her, his smile small and accepting. "I like you, Hermione. I like you a lot."

Hermione didn't know what to say in response, so she just smiled back at him. All the while, she cursed herself to the fiery depths of hell and back.

It was selfish even having this conversation_. It was cruel_. She shouldn't have put him on the spot and made him choose. She should have just ended it. It was the kind thing to do. Because no matter what happened in the end, _Simon_ would end up hurt. Not her.

The following day they fucked again, but this time he didn't try to kiss her. When it was over, Hermione felt like she always did... dirty, guilty and wholly unsatisfied. Again, it made her wonder why she continued to do it. She wasn't getting anything from it, each time she would say to herself, _this time will be different_. Of course, it never was. It wasn't his fault, not really. It wasn't anything he was doing wrong. It was her. She was broken.

* * *

A few weeks later, Hermione was having breakfast in the garden with Ginny.

"Hermione," Ginny sighed. "Stop picking at your food, there's nothing bloody wrong with it. We've been eating it for weeks now and not one person has gotten so much as a stomach ache."

Hermione grumbled under her breath and took a large bite of the spam and pickle sandwich. She used to hate spam, but she couldn't afford to be picky anymore. Food was food at the end of the day.

Ginny beamed encouragingly. "Good, huh?"

"I wouldn't say it's good," Hermione frowned slightly. "But it's the best we've had in a while, so I can't complain."

"At least the bread's fresh, mum made fifteen loaves last night. I doubt we'll have bread for much longer, I think there're only nine bags of flour left, but it's been a nice change," Ginny tore into her own sandwich with vigour and let out a low pleasure-filled moan.

It was a cold, cloudy day, too cold to be outside, really. Hermione could see large, dark clouds blowing in from the east. It would rain soon, but that didn't put them off. Besides, there was a reason they were eating outside and not in the common room with everyone else.

Hermione glanced at Ginny out of the corner of her eye and took another bite of her sandwich.

"Stop side-eyeing me!" Ginny complained, her mouth full of food.

"Sorry," Hermione winced. "It's just... aren't you nervous?"

"A little, yeah," Ginny admitted with a small shrug. "But it's Harry."

"Yeah, Harry who's been gone for nearly six weeks. Harry who you had a huge fight with before he left," Hermione gently reminded her.

Ginny sighed. "We were arguing about how many missions he's been going on recently," she confessed, picking at her fingernail. Hermione knew that it pained her to admit they were having problems, but she didn't feel bad about bringing up. She didn't want Ginny expecting everything would be OK once he got back. Things with them hadn't been OK for a long time now, and Hermione had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with more than just the missions. "He said we'd talk about it properly when he got back, but he promised that he would really try to cut back on the missions this time. As long as he does, there will be no more arguments."

Hermione opened her mouth to disagree - Harry cutting back on missions wasn't going to help their relationship - but she quickly decided against it. She could tell that Ginny wasn't really in the mood to talk about it and Hermione more than anyone could appreciate that. Besides, it was probably best that they figured it out on their own. She really hoped they did figure it out, because the way things were going, they wouldn't last much longer.

"Do you think they'll arrive today?" Hermione asked, setting her chipped plate on the grass next to her.

They were scheduled to arrive today, but in actuality, that didn't mean anything. They'd been known to arrive days, and sometimes weeks, later than they were supposed to.

"I don't know," Ginny sighed, wrapping her arms around her legs and propping her chin on her knees.

It started to spit and within a few minutes, it was a downpour. Still, Hermione and Ginny stayed where they were, waiting for the mission team to turn up, only for them to be a no-show.

* * *

Three more days passed and the rain raged on.

It was great for their water tanks, which were all now full and overflowing, after being empty for five weeks. It wasn't so great for Hermione and the rest of the community, who'd been forced to mostly stay inside, only braving the storms to use one of the makeshift out-houses they'd built when they'd first moved in. Or attempting to bathe in the lower parts of the stream that ran through the back of the property.

Hermione strolled into the common room, a book clutched in her hand, and glanced around, looking for a quiet spot to settle. She noticed Dean talking to Simon and smiled a little, remembering how she'd reamed both him and Seamus for the way they'd been treating him. She'd made it clear that what was going on between her and Simon was on her terms and they should wind their necks in. She was a grown fucking woman, and if she wanted to have casual sex, she would bloody well have casual sex.

Dean looked up at her and winked, whilst Simon gazed at her, scratching the back of his head and blushing profusely.

Why was he blushing?

For God's sake.

It irritated her how shy and meek he could get at times. Whenever he would look at her in public, he would blush. Sometimes she just wanted him to look at her across a packed room and give her the filthiest _I-want-to-fuck-you-right-now_ stare he could muster, before proceeding to thoroughly undress her with his eyes. She wanted heat, she wanted _passion_. Merlin, she even wanted him to yell at her sometimes, push her buttons a bit, especially when she was being a pain in the arse - because let's face it - she was a massive pain in the arse most of the time. She knew it, he knew, everyone knew it. She didn't think she'd ever heard him raise his voice before. Not even when he lost the only picture he had of his dead parents. He was just so calm about everything, there were no heightened emotions of any sort, especially when it came to sex. He seemed to have the same reaction every time they fucked, he enjoyed it, sure, but it was always the same. Just once, _once_, she wanted him to fuck her so hard she couldn't walk properly afterwards.

Was that asking too much?

But, alas, he wasn't the type, he was a soft and gentle lover - although, let's be honest, that wasn't really the problem, neither was the way he dealt with his emotions. There was a disconnect between them that Hermione knew they would never overcome. She imagined that even if Simon pulled out all the stops, it wouldn't be enough, not nearly.

She just wanted to feel that all-consuming _need_ for someone. To feel her stomach clench and her core throb just from a simple glance in her direction. She'd been with a handful of guys over the years and she hadn't once felt that way… not since… not since…

Hermione let out an explosive rush of air, her mind troubled.

She was just doing what she always did, trying to paint him as someone he wasn't and getting frustrated with him for it, which was completely unfair. This had been her problem for a while now. No one seemed to match up to her expectations.

"Hi Hermione," Luna greeted, seeming to appear from nowhere, interrupting her thoughts. "Have you seen my charms textbook? I seem to have misplaced it. I remember I had it in the Great Hall at dinner, but when I went back to Ravenclaw Tower, it was gone."

Hermione's heart sank.

Oh no, she must be having one of her episodes again.

Luna had been tortured at the Failed Battle of Hogwarts. Sadly, no one had seen it happening because her tormentor had dragged her off into the Forbidden Forrest so as not to be disturbed. She was half-dead when they'd finally found her, a mangled, unidentifiable corpse lying only a few feet away.

Who killed her attacker, no one knew. But thank goodness they did, otherwise, Luna wouldn't be here today.

After undergoing several tests, they discovered that Luna had been put under the Cruciatus Curse, on and off, for close to four hours. By all accounts, she should have been completely brain-dead, but thankfully, by some miracle, and after months in recovery, she was mostly still the same Luna they knew and loved. Only every now and again she would have these episodes of confusion, where she would think she was still at school in Hogwarts Castle, or at home near Ottery St. Catchpole in her house that was shaped like a chess rook. The latter was the worst, especially when she would ask where her father was. Sometimes she would just accept that he'd nipped out to the shops or went for a walk in the nearby woods. Then other times, she would demand to know where he'd gone, almost as if she knew, deep down, something had happened to him and he wasn't coming back. Those times were painful for anyone involved because Luna wouldn't stop until you told her the truth.

Imagine being told your father had been murdered years before, but you couldn't remember. It was like reopening a nasty wound each time they had to retell the story of what happened to him. It was utterly heart-wrenching to watch her break down as if she was hearing it for the first time because to Luna it _was_ the first time, not the fiftieth or hundredth.

That's why they all went along with her when she was having one of her episodes. It was too cruel to tell her the truth.

"Sorry, Luna, I haven't seen it," Hermione said, trying to keep the sorrow from her expression. "Would you like me to help you find it?" she offered.

Luna blinked, dreamily. "No, that's OK. I might just go and help Molly in the kitchen instead. I'll look for it later."

This would often happen too, actual-reality and her fake-reality would merge together. One minute she would be talking about how amazing her Transfiguration lesson was, then the next, she would be saying she needed to go and fetch some water from the stream for breakfast tomorrow morning.

"OK," Hermione smiled. "Come find me later if you want help looking for it."

"Thanks, Hermione," Luna hugged her swiftly before skipping off towards the kitchen.

Hermione watched her go, wondering as she often did, whether these episodes would be a permanent thing or something that would get better with time. It had been four years, and they hadn't eased at all, so it wasn't looking good.

Hermione sighed and walked over to her favourite reading spot that had just been vacated by Lee Jordan and George Weasley - a window seat that looked out onto the front garden.

The sky was grey and gloomy and the rain lashed the windows, ferociously.

For a long while, she gazed at the large oak trees and the long narrow conifers that swayed to and fro in the howling wind, her book resting unopened in her lap. She watched the rain ease until it reduced to spitting and then stopped completely.

She thought about life and how much it had changed in the last five years, wondering, as always, what on earth would happen to them all in the years to come. Perhaps they wouldn't be here. Food was scarce at the best of times, soon it would run out entirely. What would they do then?

Hermione vowed to talk to Molly about expanding their vegetable patch. They needed to work more diligently on growing more fruits and vegetables. She would also talk to Dean and Seamus and tell them to keep an eye out when they were out and about. If they saw any fruit trees or vegetable plants, they should bring samples back for them to plant in the garden.

Hermione was pondering what other steps they could take to ensure a steady food supply, when suddenly a pair of headlights turned up the long winding driveway.

Hermione sat bolt upright, her book sliding off her lap to bang loudly on the floor.

"Ginny!" She bellowed. "They're back!"

Hermione and Ginny charged through the common room doors and raced down the enormous hallway, their feet smacking on the hardwood floors, as they giggled like they hadn't giggled in a long time.

Molly and Arthur watched them from the staircase, smiling widely, the relief on both of their face unmistakable. Their sons had made it home.

Ginny reached the front door before Hermione and flung it open, a big gust of icy wind blowing their hair back and making them gasp and shiver.

Ron was already striding across the large porch, his face drawn and tired, but that didn't stop him from pulling both Ginny and Hermione into a bone-crushing hug.

"Ron," Hermione breathed, squeezing him back. "You're OK. Oh my God, you're OK. I was so worried."

She said these exact words every time Harry and Ron came back from a mission, almost as if she had been subconsciously thinking that they wouldn't be.

"Listen," Ron said, his tone low and urgent as he ushered them inside.

Hermione's heart instantly dropped at the sound of his voice and the grave expression on his face. He looked pale, even for him, and his freckles stood out, unusually dark. She gripped his arm tightly as he guided both her and Ginny further into the hallway.

Oh God, what was this about? Was it Harry? Bill? Charlie?

"RON! Stop pushing me!" Ginny yelled, angrily. "Where the hell is Harry? Where's Bill and Charlie? _What's going on?_" she demanded. Neither Hermione nor Ron missed the slight tremor to her voice or the way her tone became a little too shrill.

"We..." Ron began, but trailed off, glancing over his shoulder through the front door that was still open and blowing in freezing, cold air.

Hermione's eyes followed his line of sight and she frowned deeply. "Ron... who?"

She watched as Harry and Charlie hauled a man between them up the steps and into the house, Bill hot on their heels. As relieved as she was to see them safe and sound, she couldn't stop her curiosity from taking over.

Hermione looked the man up and down, taking in his fine clothes - black, tailored trousers and what obviously used to be a white shirt but was now dirty and speckled with blood. He had a black suit jacket wrapped and tied tightly around his head, preventing her from seeing his face and him from seeing his surroundings. She couldn't even tell what colour his hair was.

Hermione could distantly hear Molly and Arthur ushering people who had come out to have a nosey back into the common room.

As they passed, Bill and Charlie looked in their direction, giving Hermione and Ginny small, tired smiles, yet Harry did not. He didn't even deign to glance their way, he just looked straight ahead, face like thunder.

This was typical Harry. This was him in full _"mission-mode", _almost like he couldn't see what was going on around him. Had he even noticed Ginny?

Hermione peeked at Ginny from the corner of her eye, trying to judge what she was feeling.

Ginny looked... angry, sad, _disappointed_. She'd been waiting for Harry for _weeks_ and he couldn't even look at her? Give her a reassuring nod? _Nothing_? This is exactly why they were arguing so much. It wasn't that Harry didn't care for Ginny anymore, it's just that he was so consumed with getting behind the wall and stopping Voldemort that it often came across that way. It was like his missions where the most important thing and everything else was secondary, including Ginny.

"Harry –" Ginny called after him, stepping forward as if to follow him.

"Not now, Gin," he said, tone hard. "This can't wait."

Hermione glared at the back of Harry's head –_ bastard_ \- before turning back to Ron, a million questions in her eyes. Mainly, who the fuck was that guy they were dragging, blindfolded, into their safe haven?

Ron stood up taller, his jaw tightening. "He's from behind the wall," he told her, eyes narrowing, easily answering her question without her having to utter a word. "He's our ticket in."

Hermione let out a surprised breath, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Now it all made sense, why Harry was acting like he was.

She heard the door to the Hub slam close with a deafening bang and she flinched in response.

A moment later, a scream of agony pierced the air - and it barely stopped for the next three hours.

* * *

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! :-). Eeeeek, I'm excited about writing this part of the story. I've got so many ideas running through my head. Please let me know your thoughts on chapter 1! Did you see it going in this direction? Are you surprised? Either way, this is only the beginning, I'm excited to write the scenes that take place behind the wall and I'm even more excited to introduce Draco and gang back into the story. Big hugs xoxo

My dearest Black_Osmosis, thank you so much for all the back and forths on this chapter - there were a lot! And they all happened this weekend, LOL. We also managed to throw in some music recommendations, which I'm so happy about. Writing and music - two of my favourite things. Much love and hugs to you xoxoxo

**P.S.** Please don't be put off by Simon. Remember this is a Dramione story, it's all about them! Just trust me, please :). I know I shouldn't even have to say this, but I've already had someone say they aren't going to continue reading because Hermione is having a fling with another guy. So, if that's a concern for you also, let me say it again for the people in the back who may not have heard, THIS IS A DRAMIONE STORY! Haha.

**P.P.S.** I've just been through the entire chapter again as it was pointed out that there was some weird formatting issue in the prologue, making some sentences unreadable. I have now amended this. This is a problem I've had in the past with FFN. For some reason, it doesn't like me copying from a word document and pasting into DocX on their website. It's extremely frustrating, especially after days of proofreading and back and forths with Black_Osmosis. I'm seriously considering closing this account and only posting my work on AO3. It's literally making me look bad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Inevitable by DMHP2014**

* * *

**~ Chapter 2 ~**

* * *

Hermione gazed at the late eighteenth-century grandfather clock from her spot on the stairs and watched, disgruntled, as the big hand silently struck midnight.

She sighed tiredly, her eyes lazily sweeping up and down the dark mahogany frame of the clock before pausing briefly on the gold and silver cogs that were visible through the glass face.

The clock was grand and beautiful, in great condition, considering what had been done to the manor during the plague - but it no longer chimed on the hour. Of course, Hermione already knew this about the clock, but if she hadn't, she certainly would after tonight. She'd been sitting on the stairs for the past three hours, and the clock hadn't made a peep - except for the pronounced _tick… tick… tick…_ of the second hand, which was slowly but surely driving her up the wall.

She looked back through the wrought iron bannister towards the double doors of the Hub - ignoring Michael and Hannah who were on guard duty tonight - and brought her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs.

She narrowed her eyes, imagining she was glaring at Harry and Ron, and not an inanimate wooden door.

Neither Harry nor Ron had left the Hub in the last three hours, and they'd told Michael and Hannah to not let anyone in, _even Hermione_.

Apparently, Ron had stepped out to go to the toilet just before nine, but thanks to her incessant thirst, she'd missed the chance to chew him out and demand why she wasn't allowed in during the interrogation. She knew she shouldn't have gone to get a drink when she did.

They could be so overbearing sometimes, it made her want to strangle them both. She knew they had their reasons - ridiculous though they were - but she was sick of being pushed out. It seemed to be happening more and more frequently.

Not for the first time, she wondered what happened to them. They used to do everything together, it was the three of them, the golden trio. There was a time when Harry and Ron relied on her input for everything - from which colour shirt to wear to war strategies. Now their trio was a more like a duo and Hermione was the one left on the outside looking in.

Most of the time she could ignore it - after all, she was still a valued member of The Order, her research had given them significant advantages where there had previously been none. Yet she couldn't help but feel hurt in times like this. She hated being kept in the dark. And even more so, she hated how apparent it was that she wasn't needed as much as she used to be.

Hermione knew that Ginny shared her feelings, even though her situation was different.

Harry had been neglecting his relationship with Ginny for far too long now, and although Hermione hoped they could work things out, she had a horrible feeling it was too late for such things.

Ginny had waited with her on the stairs for a little while, but she was so angry with Harry that she eventually stormed off to her and Hermione's shared bedroom, claiming she was going to sleep. Hermione doubted sleep would claim her friend tonight, she could picture Ginny stewing several floors above her, waiting for Harry to seek her out and apologise for the shoddy greeting - _or lack thereof_.

The manor was silent, eerily so. Everyone had gone to bed and the screams from the Hub had stopped hours ago. Hermione couldn't even hear any raised voices. She wondered what was happening. Had their hostage decided to talk? Or were Harry and Ron trying another tactic? Like silently staring at him until he spilt details on happenings behind the wall. If that was the case, Hermione could be in for a long night.

Hannah suddenly sneezed, breaking through the silence of Hermione's thoughts.

"Bless you," Hermione murmured.

Hannah smiled tiredly and promptly sneezed again, only this time it was followed by a long groan as she brought both hands up to cradle her head.

The rest of the night went on very much the same.

Hermione mostly remained in her spot on the stairs, only getting up every so often to stretch her legs.

"Hermione, wake up," Michael hissed quietly.

She was totally unaware that she'd fallen asleep until someone was gently shaking her awake. Hermione shot up as if a cannon had gone off. "What? What happened?" she demanded, disorientated. Her head whipped around in confusion, her body screaming at the sudden jerking movements until she finally realised where she was. Her eyes flicked to the clock which told her it was just before six-thirty in the morning. She sighed deeply.

"You fell asleep," Michael told her rather unnecessarily. "You should go to bed and get some rest. I will let Harry and Ron know that you were waiting for them."

Hermione nodded slowly, her disappointment evident. She turned to gaze at the door, which was still firmly closed. "Where's Hannah?" she asked croakily, noticing that the blonde girl was absent from her station.

"I had to send her to bed, she's not feeling well," Michael said, holding his hand out to help her stand. "I think another bout of the flu is making its rounds," he shook his head, looking worried. "Craig went down earlier today and Arthur was looking rather worse for wear."

_Oh no. Not again._

Hermione swallowed down her concern. "Well, in that case, I should stay," she began, her tone taking on a note of authority. "There should always be two guards on the door -"

"That isn't necessary, Hermione," Michael objected, shoulders sagging wearily. "Shift change is in half an hour."

"And?" she pressed. "Now is not the time for us to go slack on protocol. There's a hostage from behind the wall in there," she added incredulously, gesturing towards the Hub.

"I'm well aware of that," Michael sighed, his expression one of a suffering nature. "But for Merlin's sake, Hermione, you're dead on your feet. You don't look well yourself. No offence, but you wouldn't be much help if anything happens in the next half hour, you can barely stand, let alone fight. Just go to bed," he sighed. "Everything will be fine."

Hermione wanted to argue, but he was right, she could barely stand. She was absolutely shattered and her entire body ached like she'd gone ten rounds with a troll. "OK," she reluctantly agreed, turning to drag herself up the stairs. "Don't forget to tell Harry and Ron I was waiting for them, or at least pass the message on to whoever's on guard duty next."

"I will," Michael nodded and moved back into position in front of the door to the Hub.

The walk to her bedroom nearly killed her, and she had a horrible, sinking feeling that there was more to it than just being exhausted. She didn't feel right, her limbs felt heavy and her head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

She thought of the Grand Staircase at Hogwarts, and for the first time _ever_ was glad she wasn't there. The manor's four staircases were nothing to the mammoth hundred and forty-two at Hogwarts, yet she was struggling to breathe and not pass out by the time she got to her bedroom. The long trek to the Gryffindor dormitories would have killed her, for sure.

Hermione crawled into bed fully clothed and pulled her duvet tight around her. She had but a vague moment of realisation that Ginny wasn't in her bed before she fell into a deep, fevered sleep.

* * *

Hermione woke with a weak groan, her head heavy and mind fuzzy with confusion.

"Ginny?" she called out, voice cracking.

_Good grief_, she felt like she'd been run over by the night bus.

"Hermione?" Ginny came jogging into the room and upon seeing her, smiled widely. "You're awake, thank goodness. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Hermione confessed, struggling into a sitting position, her head spinning wildly. "What time is it?" she asked, voice deep and nasal. She gripped the side of her head with a wince.

She could tell it was some time in the day, going by the muted light shining through the gaps in the threadbare curtains.

"It's just after nine," Ginny answered, pouring her a steaming cup of something from the copper pot on the nightstand.

"Really?" Hermione frowned, eyebrows drawing together as she took the proffered cup and gently blew on it, the faint scent of honey, lemon, and ginger filling her nose. She sniffed, trying to clear her nostrils, and promptly sneezed, her whole head throbbing with the action. "No wonder I feel like crap. I've only been asleep for a few hours."

"A few hours?" Ginny snorted, giving her a peculiar look. "Hermione, you've been out for a whole day."

"What?!" she croaked, nearly spilling the contents of her drink all over the bedsheets.

"Yeah, you had a terrible fever. Thankfully, it only lasted around twelve hours. You've been sleeping since it lifted."

_Shit_. She'd been out of it for over twenty-four hours. How was that even possible?

"Oh, God," Hermione groaned, resting her head back against the headboard. "Talk about bad timing with everything that's going on. Where's Harry and Ron? What happened with the hostage? Is he still here? Did they find out anything about behind the wall? -" she broke off at the tight look on her friend's face, dread filling her chest. "Oh no," she said in a deep monotone. "What's happened?"

Ginny shook her head, nose wrinkling. "They haven't found anything out. The guy hasn't uttered a single word, even after..." she trailed off, swallowing hard.

Hermione frowned and sat up straighter, leaning forward, even though it made her head spin to do so. "After, what?" she pushed. "Tell me."

The girl bit her bottom lip, shaking her head again, brown eyes perturbed. "Let's just say they've been getting quite creative in the different ways to get him to talk."

Hermione gazed at Ginny, carefully mulling over her words, taking in her too pale face and her freckles that stood out, stark, against her complexion. Hermione's heart sped up a bit. "How creative are we talking?" she murmured, almost too afraid to ask.

"About as creative as you can be without having magic or the right tools at your disposal," Ginny responded matter-of-factly, a dark look clouding her pretty features.

_Fuck._

Hermione was about to ask for specific details when Mrs Weasley suddenly bustled into the room.

Ginny gave Hermione a swift, sharp look that plainly told her Mrs Weasley had no idea what was going on with the hostage. So she closed her mouth and pressed her lips tightly together, hoping she didn't look as startled as she felt.

"Oh, Hermione dear," Molly sang. "You're awake. You gave us all a fright! How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she suddenly halted at the end of the bed, eyes narrowing on Hermione's face. "What's the matter?"

Hermione blinked, eyes widening. Clearly she'd done a poor job. "Oh… um… nothing!" she stuttered. "I mean, I'm just still not feeling a hundred percent, that's all."

Ginny threw her a look that said, _really? _And looked up towards the heavens.

"Oh, of course you're not," Molly tutted sympathetically. I had the girls boil water over the fire to run you a hot bath. It should almost be done. Drink up," she ordered, stepping closer and leaning down to guide the cup in Hermione's hands to her mouth.

Hermione drank deeply, the drink still hot - but not hot enough to burn – the taste of ginger, lemon and honey exploding in her mouth.

"That's it," Molly encouraged. "You can drink the rest while you're in the bath, and I'll have some soup brought up to you for when you get out. I want you straight back in bed, young lady. I'll be coming back to check on you later. Ginny," she turned to her daughter. "Help her to the bath, will you, darling."

Then she was gone.

Ginny rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently. "Well, you heard the woman, let's go."

Hermione threw her an incredulous look - she didn't want a _bath_, she wanted answers. Yet she knew it would be futile to argue now that Molly had given the order, so she allowed the redhead to help her from the bed and support her across the long landing towards the bathroom. Besides, now that she thought about it, a warm bath did sound nice. She still had every intention of questioning Ginny - a fact they were both well aware of.

"Do you need help undressing?" Ginny asked once they'd made it inside the bathroom.

Hermione glanced around, taking in the cracked mirror above the sink, the sink which no longer worked. There was a single, boarded up window that had been smashed during the plague, and if not for the candles - carefully placed around the room to create a soft orangey-yellow glow - they would have been in complete darkness. She glanced at the large tub, at the steam rising from it - warm and inviting - and couldn't help the slight shudder creeping along her spine. She didn't want to think about how much of a pain it would've been to get hot water up here. She'd have to find out who'd done it and thank them. She was grateful, she wasn't sure she would have made it to the stream and knew for certain that she wouldn't have been able to bear the icy-coldness of it. "No, it's OK, thanks," Hermione turned back to Ginny, realising the girl was still waiting for her to answer. "I should be able to manage."

The youngest Weasley smiled. "I'll just go and get you some fresh pyjamas," she said. "And I'll bring the pot of tea. Mum will kill us both if you don't drink it."

By the time Ginny got back, Hermione was already submerged in the tub, the rising steam slightly distorting her vision. The hot water was absolute bliss on her aching muscles. She couldn't remember the last time she'd bathed with hot water, it felt like a lifetime ago - probably the last time she'd been ill.

The redhead handed her a fresh cup of honey, lemon, and ginger. "Take these," she said, dropping two tablets into Hermione's waiting hand. "Codeine - the strong ones," she explained with a smirk as she lowered herself to the floor and crossed her legs. "Seamus told me to give them to you. I've left another two next your bed - to have when you wake up. Unfortunately, that's all he could spare."

"Thank you," Hermione breathed, closing her eyes briefly in gratitude. She put both tablets in her mouth and took a few careful sips of her drink. She set down the cup on the edge of the bath and picked up the flannel and bar of soap that had been left for her. She lathered them up and began cleaning herself, the scent of jasmine filling the room.

"Simon's been asking after you," Ginny commented mildly, idly picking at the crumbling plaster on the wall.

Hermione hummed, sounding thoroughly disinterest, and averted her gaze.

"Yeah," the redhead continued, undeterred. "He seems to be really worried about you."

Hermione remained quiet, the only sound was the lapping water against the sides of the bathtub as she meticulously cleaned herself - tiring though it was.

"He -"

"I don't want to talk about Simon," she cut Ginny off, tone harsher than she'd meant it to be. "Sorry," she immediately apologised. "I just... I," she scrunched up her face. Simon was a subject she wasn't in the mood to discuss right now - _ever,_ if she was being honest.

"I get it," Ginny reassured her. "Trust me," she widened her brown eyes for emphasis. "I _really_ get it."

Hermione smiled sadly. Things were obviously still bad with her and Harry, in fact, seeing as things were going so terribly with the hostage, she'd be surprised if Harry had even sought the redhead out yet. "Tell me about the hostage?" she asked, eyeing her friend carefully.

Ginny let out an explosive sigh and leaned her head back against the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest. "There's not much more to tell... unless you're after the gory details?" she cringed.

Hermione thought about it for a moment. Did she want the gory details? Her mind was doing a pretty good job already - marred, bloody skin, broken bones. She shook her head. "No, I don't want to know. Not yet, anyway."

The redhead looked relieved and they both fell silent.

"He isn't going to talk," Ginny expressed quietly after the two of them sat for long minutes in contemplation. "The hostage, I mean."

Hermione gazed at her over the lip of the bathtub, taking in her tight lips and tired eyes.

"I'm scared," Ginny swallowed, gritting her teeth as if she hadn't wanted to admit it. "About how far Harry and Ron will go before they realise he won't tell them anything. They've already gone too far."

Hermione felt a chill go through her, despite the hot water. "Have you seen the hostage?" she asked tentatively.

"No," the redhead answered with a sharp shake of her head. "Bill won't let me. They won't let anyone in. No one knows what's going on in that room. The only reason _I_ know is that I mithered Charlie to tell me. And I know he hasn't told me everything."

Hermione picked her drink up and gulped it down, needing something to do. She felt sickeningly uneasy. She was worried about Harry and Ron, about their mental state. How had they gotten to this point? A point where they could do something so awful? It was hard in the Wastes, yes, and she knew Harry carried a lot of guilt about not finishing Voldemort off when he'd had the chance. But that was no excuse for being so cruel. It wasn't like them, they'd never resorted to this kind of thing before. They were no better than those behind the wall if they threw all their beliefs and morals out of the window, she needed to talk to Harry and Ron as soon as possible, see where their heads were at. Maybe talk some sense into them and find out what was _actually_ going on.

"Try not to worry, Gin," she reached her arm out over the bathtub, dripping water onto the floor. The redhead took her hand and squeezed it hard. "It will be alright," she smiled and hoped it looked convincing. Because even as she uttered the words, she wasn't sure she believed them herself.

* * *

As instructed by Molly, Hermione got straight back into bed after her bath. She felt so much better now that she was clean and warm, especially now that the codeine had finally kicked in. Her aches and pains were but a dull throb - bothersome, yet manageable.

She devoured her vegetable soup - even though she could hardly taste it - and then brushed her hair out before burrowing under the quilt for a nap.

She ended up sleeping for six hours, waking just before five in the afternoon with a headache the size of Jupiter.

Hermione groaned and reached out a hand to feel around her bedside table, her fingers brushing over the tablets she'd known were sitting there. The previous two she'd taken in the bath had well and truly worn off. She sat up, shoving them in her mouth and gulped down the entire glass of water that had been left for her - bless Ginny.

Hermione didn't dare to move any further, even though her bladder was screaming to be emptied.

She waited for a time, allowing the tablets to do their magic before attempting to move again. She waited twenty minutes until she could wait no more.

Hermione glanced at the bucket in the corner of the room. The bucket she and Ginny used for emergencies only, for when it was throwing it down outside and they didn't want to get soaked during the night. She was tempted to use it now but decided against it. It was more trouble than it was worth, and it wasn't fair to leave Ginny to deal with it.

Hermione left the bedroom and made her way down the four flights of stairs, slowly and carefully. Her body felt so weak and, despite how much she'd slept, she still felt completely knackered.

Lee Jordan bumped into her on the ground floor hallway as he came barrelling out of the common room.

"_Ooft!_"

"Shit, sorry, Hermione," Lee chuckled merrily, grabbing hold of her shoulders to steady her. "Damn," he cringed, giving her a quick once over. "You don't look good. Don't let Molly see you out of bed," he took several steps back, pointing at her, his eyebrows raised in warning.

Hermione grumbled as she watched him launch himself up the stairs, taking two at a time, and then turned and continued her way to the front door. She shoved her feet into the flip-flops she'd left on the porch and headed down the steps and across the grass to the outhouse - which actually used to be a large shed.

The shed had been divided off into five cubicles along the back wall, each cubicle had a toilet inside and a curtain in front for privacy. All had been made by Alexei, a muggle and a bloody good handyman, who was able to make virtually anything out of the most unlikely materials. They weren't typical-looking toilets and they didn't work the same way as a typical toilet, but they _did_ work. There was no plumbing, so Alexei had invented a sewage system that needed to be emptied and cleaned at the end of each day. Without Alexei, Hermione feared they would still be traipsing into the woods behind the manor with a shovel. This was a luxury compared to those days.

Thankfully, the outhouse was empty - which was a marvel - so Hermione chose the cubicle farthest away from the door to do her business.

The makeshift toilet seat was cold against her bottom when she sat on it, causing goosebumps to break out across her skin. She cursed herself for not grabbing a jacket before she left her room. She was still wearing the mismatched pyjamas she'd changed into after her bath, which, although fit her quite well, weren't the warmest.

There was a huge barrel of water from the stream sitting by a row of eight mismatched sinks that had been bolted to the wall of the outhouse. Of course, they didn't work properly, there was no plumbing. But there were several plastic cups floating in the barrel, so they could scoop out water and fill the sink to wash their hands and face. Alexei had found an old, long hose lying around and had cut it up and secured it to the bottom of each sink so that they could easily be drained of the dirty water.

Hermione plugged and filled a sink and grabbed a bar of soap that was hanging on a hook by a thick piece of string.

The water was bitterly cold as she splashed it onto her face, nothing like the cosy warmth of her bath that morning. She gritted her teeth, lathered up the soap and scrubbed her hands and face, clearing away the remnants of sleep, before rinsing thoroughly.

As she'd forgotten to bring her toiletry bag, which held a small towel and her toothbrush, down with her, she had to use a square of paper towel that had been left on a shelf to dry her face and hands. There was a row of mouthwash on the shelf above the paper towels. Hermione scanned them and then picked up a bottle of Listerine and poured some into her mouth, careful that it didn't touch her lips. She swilled the mouthwash around her mouth for a good minute, revelling in the slight burn and tingle. It would have to do until she brushed her teeth later.

After spitting the mouthwash out, she glanced at her reflection in the spotted mirror by the shelves and groaned. She really did look terrible. Her skin was too pale, her brown eyes dull and smudged with purple beneath, and her usually rosy-pink lips were colourless. She ran her fingers through her hair, hair that was always frizzy these days, like before she'd learned to tame it into luscious curls with magic. Not that it mattered now. Who was she trying to impress? Certainly no one here.

Simon's face suddenly flashed in her mind, followed by a wave of guilt.

Hermione had never once cared what he thought of her. Never once felt like tidying up her appearance, changing into something semi-nice before meeting up with him, putting on a bit of makeup from the limited, out-of-date stock they had in the manor. Nothing. She knew she should never change herself for someone else, they should like her just the way she is, but in her later years of Hogwarts, she'd found she quite enjoyed putting on makeup, just a little here and there to enhance her already pretty features.

She would do it for... _him..._ because she wanted to look her best for him_. _Loved and craved the way his silver eyes would light up whenever he saw her, that devious smirk in place. Hermione always wanted to look her best around him, not just for him but for herself, too. She remembered making sure she was always plucked and groomed within an inch of her life, just in case they ended up meeting in the Room of Requirement or one of the empty classrooms. She wanted her skin to be silky-smooth for when he inevitably ran his hands all over her - slowly, reverently - savouring every touch, every caress... She sucked in a sharp breath, and instantly blocked the images from her mind. Blocked _him_ from her mind.

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, a startled, pained expression now clouding her features. She hadn't thought about him in a very long time, not properly. _No_. She never allowed it. It must be due to her sickness - her mind was too weak at the moment and he was able to slip through the cracks and torment her.

Hermione took several calming, albeit shaky, breaths and began to hastily scrape her hair back with her fingers, securing it in a high ponytail with the bobble she had around her wrist. Silver eyes - fierce and oh-so captivating - and cruel, devilish lips still mocked her and she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to banish them.

"Go away, go away, go away!" she gritted, anger - at herself - burning in her veins. She hated this. Hated how he still haunted her, even after all these years..._ Shit_. She couldn't go there. Not now. Not ever. It was too much.

"Hermione?"

Hermione spun around so fast she nearly toppled over. She reached out and gripped one of the sinks for support, her head spinning alarmingly.

"Woah, there," came Simon's unmistakable voice and Hermione felt his hands grip her arms to help steady her.

"Simon?" Hermione frowned, squinting up at him, trying to make out his features. There were four of him, all blending together and undulating, causing bile to rise in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, it's me," he murmured, his warm breath fanning across her cheek._ Too close_. "Are you alright? I've been worried about you. You look..." he trailed off.

"Yes, I know. I look like shit," she growled, pushing out of his grip. She bent over the sink, taking several deep breaths, willing the dizziness and sickness away. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and slowly straightened.

Simon looked as he always did - kind, light brown eyes with wavy hair that matched perfectly in colour. He had a small dimple on his left cheek that appeared whenever he smiled, and a diagonal scar on the right side of his top lip. He was handsome, in a boy-next-door sort of way. He had an approachable, honest face that made him an easy person to talk to.

"You don't look like shit," he tutted, a small smile playing at his lips, that dimple winking into existence. He reached out a hand and brushed his thumb gently across her cheek. "You look _unwell."_

Hermione gazed up at him, sorrow and something else filling her chest. She didn't feel like herself, she felt weepy and emotional. This flu was really taking its toll on her. Hermione never felt like this. Usually, she had a firm grip on her emotions, was able to easily push them away and suppress them, but today… today was different. It had been a very long time since she'd felt like this.

"Are you alright?" Simon asked, a deep frown cutting lines into his forehead.

"I'm fine," she answered too quickly, turning away from him. She brought her hand up to her temple and massaged it. The tablets hadn't worked as well as they had that morning, her headache was already coming back with a vengeance.

"Maybe you should go back to bed, get some rest," he suggested. "Come, I'll help you up the stairs -"

"No. I'm not going back to my room. I need to talk to Harry and Ron -"

"Hermione -" he began in a low, deploring tone that sent her anger sizzling back to life. "You need to go back to bed. Come on, Harry and Ron can wait."

"Don't," she hissed venomously, snatching her arm back when he tried to grab it. He shot her a slightly hurt, slightly bemused look. "You don't need to mother me. I'm not a child. You just worry about yourself and leave me to sort out what _I_ need."

Simon stared at her for several moments, his expression quickly morphing from bemused to angry. "You know what?" he suddenly bellowed. "I'm sick of this shit!" he spat the last word, baring his teeth at her. Hermione was so surprised she took a step back. He'd never spoken to her like this before, never raised his voice or looked at her with such fury. "Do what the _fuck_ you want. I don't care anymore. I'm done. DONE!"

_What the hell?_

Hermione scrutinized him. "Good. I've been wanting to end it for a while now anyway. You just did me a favour. Thank you," she crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, her demeanour arrogant and assertive. Yet, inside she felt like screaming. Screaming with rage, perhaps even with some relief.

Simon shook his head, staring at her like she was the most mindboggling thing he'd ever come across. After a moment, his anger slowly abated, and his eyes shone bright with sadness. "This was never going to work, you and me. You made that perfectly clear from the start. I don't know why I ever bothered, or why I allowed myself to hope. I'm a fool, a lovesick idiot," he bit the inside of his lip, studying her, and Hermione could do nothing but stare at him, her stomach churning with guilt. "Yet, despite it all, I want you to be happy. I hope one day you can let go of whatever is holding you back, Hermione. I hope you find peace, love and happiness. It would be tragic for such a beautiful, intelligent woman to live the rest of her life without those things in it."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the outhouse without giving her a chance to respond. Not that she would have anyway, because what could she say to that? She had treated him poorly and still, in the end, he'd managed to be kind to her, in spite of everything she'd done, and the way she'd tagged him along. She hated herself. She didn't blame him for his outburst. Actually, she was surprised it took him this long, it was way over-due and to be honest, she'd deserved worse than that. Ending it with her was probably the best thing he'd done for himself in a while. She was toxic, and he deserved to be happy.

Hermione turned back to the mirror, wondering, not for the first time, who the woman staring back at her was. She was a stranger, vaguely familiar, but ultimately strange. And if it was possible, this stranger looked even more haggard than she did ten minutes ago.

Hermione took a moment to centre herself, wholly unsurprised when it didn't work. She was too wired, her head was banging, bones and joints crying out in protest. She stomped from the outhouse towards the manor, every step sending sharp spikes of pain through her limbs. She pushed through it, kicking her flip flops off when she got to the porch, and padded barefoot through the hallway towards the Hub, sheer determination giving her some much-needed strength.

The house was alive with sounds from the kitchen and the common rooms - laughing and the banging of pots and pans. She couldn't detect any noise coming from the Hub though and wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Anthony and Alicia were on guard duty and when they spotted Hermione marching towards them, they both cringed.

"Um... um -" Anthony began, mouth opening and closing uncertainly as she approached.

Hermione cut off his stuttering with a narrow-eyed look. "Are Harry and Ron in there?" she asked sharply.

"Yes, but -" Anthony started, glancing at Alicia for help. Alicia shrugged and pressed her lips together in a way that said she didn't want to get involved. Smart girl.

"Then I want to see them," Hermione said firmly. "_Now_."

"Hermione," Anthony groaned. "You know we can't do that. We've been told not to disturb them unless it's dire."

"This_ is_ dire," Hermione hissed. "Dire for you _and_ them if you don't let me in, right this instant!" she shoved in between Anthony and Alicia and banged loudly on the door. "Harry Potter! Ron Weasley! You better open this door right now, otherwise, I'm going to -"

The door flung open and Hermione was met with a stone-faced Harry.

Hermione scoffed, taking in his furious expression. "Don't you dare look at me like that," she gritted, pointing her finger in his chest. Harry took a step back, glancing down at the offending finger incredulously. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded, before he could get a word in. "You've barricaded yourselves in that room for days without any word on what's going on and then you have the cheek to look at me like that?" she growled and shoved at his chest, days of worry and frustration finally catching up to her.

"For God's sake, Hermione, _STOP_," Harry spluttered indignantly, batting her hands away.

"I'm so angry, I could strangle you!" Hermione continued, completely ignoring his complaint. "And what about Ginny?" she added, throwing her arms up. "She didn't deserve that shoddy greeting. She'd been waiting for you, had been worried about you, and you just walked past her like she wasn't there!"

Harry could do nothing, except press his lips together into a hard line. He might not have agreed with her on everything else, but the way he'd treated Ginny was wrong, and he knew it.

Hermione shook her head and stared at him like she didn't know him. Harry was still glaring at her furiously, probably because she'd just reamed him in front of his guards, but she didn't care. She was beyond caring at this point. "You will wipe that look off your face, Harry Potter, and you will tell me what the fuck is going on. I can assure you, you aren't as angry as I am. And I swear, if you turn away from me now and go back into that room, you will sorely regret it."

Harry's emerald eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. He opened his mouth to say something - something spiteful, she was sure - but quickly closed it as he glanced over Hermione's shoulder, eyes suddenly softening.

Hermione glanced behind her and saw Ginny standing there, face hard as granite, brown eyes dark pools of ire.

Hermione didn't see Harry swallow but rather heard him.

She turned back to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. Waiting.

Harry sucked in a deep breath and wiped a hand over his face tiredly. "OK, OK, you're right," he glanced back into the room, the view of which was obscured by the door, and then looked back at Hermione and Ginny. "We can't talk in here though," he said, face blanching a little.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at that and she opened her mouth to demand why.

Harry, seeing this, quickly went on. "Ron and I will come up to your room in half an hour or so. I promise," he implored. "Just give us half an hour and then we'll be up. We'll tell you everything. OK?" his eyes flicked between the two girls, oh so green and pleading.

Hermione and Ginny shared a brief look before the redhead turned and walked away without so much as uttering a single word. Harry stared after her, expression pained.

"Fine," Hermione agreed. "Half an hour. But if you don't come, Harry -"

"We'll be there," he said in a rush. "I promise."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment and then nodded once and followed Ginny.

* * *

Hermione watched as Harry and Ron entered the bedroom.

She was tucked up in bed, as ordered by Ginny, and the redhead was cross-legged on the end, face like thunder.

Ron closed and locked the door, and both men shuffled, solemnly, to the bed next to Hermione's - Ginny's bed, the bed she'd claimed several months ago after confessing she was lonely with Harry always being away - and perched on it, looking woefully uncomfortable.

The four of them gazed at each other - the girls on one side, boys on the other - and it truly saddened Hermione that it had come to this. That they were so far removed from each other's lives that things had become this painfully awkward. Secrets lay between them like shards of broken glass protruding from the floorboards, stopping either side from getting any closer. It was tragic, but it was life, she supposed. They had all made their decisions - some decisions were made on behalf of others without their consent, though that was neither here nor there. There was a reason why they were in this awful predicament right now, and Hermione tried her hardest not to point her finger and place blame.

Harry leaned forward and rested his elbows on his spread knees, reaching a hand behind his head to scrub his too-long hair. He looked shattered and much older than his twenty-two years, he was in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes. "How are you feeling, Hermione?" he asked, looking up at her through his dark lashes.

"Really?" Ginny scoffed. "_Now_ you're going to pretend like you care?" she shook her head, throwing a disgusted look at both her boyfriend and her brother. "Where were you when she was deep in a fever?"

"For fuck's sake, Gin," Ron groaned, throwing himself back onto the bed, his t-shirt riding up to expose his pale abdomen. "Can you not jump straight on the defensive?" he complained, flinging an arm across his face.

Ginny's cheeks reddened and her fists clenched as she made to get up, probably to throttle the life out of him. Hermione was almost tempted to let her, but she reached out and grabbed the youngest Weasley's arm, pulling her back down to the bed with a small shake of her head.

Hermione could see the murderous storm raging in her friend's brown eyes, but Ginny nodded once and settled back down.

"I'm sorry, Gin," Harry murmured. "I'm sorry for -"

"Save it, Harry," Ginny snapped. "I don't want to hear it. Not right now."

"Then why the fuck are we here?" Ron asked no one in particular. He sat back up with a frown, gazing at each of them in turn.

"You know why we're here," Hermione interjected, her words biting.

Ron focused on her and took in a deep steady breath. "Fine," he reluctantly acquiesced. "Then, what do you want us to say? I know you're both upset that we've not had time to talk to you, but we have work to do. The hostage -"

"Yes, the hostage," Ginny cut him off, her voice calm and conversational, at total odds with her expression, which clearly indicated she still wanted to murder him. "Why don't you say something about that?" she suggested, eyebrow raised. "You've been cooped up with him for days on end. Doing Merlin-knows-what," a lie, she had an idea what they'd been doing. "There must be something you can tell us."

Ron sighed explosively. "I don't understand what the urgency is," he held his hands out, palms up. "Why don't you just let us do our work and once we find everything out, we'll let you know."

Hermione stared at him, and stared at him, eyes feasting on his arrogance. She willed her anger to calm, willed it with every fibre of her being, but it was difficult, _it was so difficult_. "You're a fucking idiot," she suddenly spat, unable to stop the words from spewing forth. "Always have been, always will be."

Ron blinked at her, completely taken aback by her vicious tone, that arrogance falling from his face like autumn leaves from a tree.

"Christ, Hermione," Harry hissed eyes crinkling at the sides with judgement. "That was a bit harsh, wasn't it? I told you we'd tell you everything, and we will."

Hermione whirled on him. "I think you and Ron have differing opinions on the matter, Harry. Either that or he really is a fucking idiot."

"Call me a fucking idiot one more time!" Ron growled, getting halfway into a standing position before Harry pulled him back down.

"Why, what are you going to do?" Hermione demanded, scoffing at his show of machismo. "Not tell me what's going on?" she quipped sarcastically.

Ginny snorted and Ron exclaimed angrily, turning to Harry for backup.

"Alright, Hermione, we get it," Harry exhaled, testily. "You're angry. Can we stop this now? It's not getting us anywhere."

"What? I'm only speaking the truth," she argued. "I don't know why this is getting turned on me. If Ron can't understand why Ginny and I are upset about being left out, then he's a _fucking idiot_. End of story!" she crossed her arms with a huff, refusing to back down.

Harry stared at her, eyes wild as a storm, jaw tight. She could see the effort it took him not to say anything more. She wanted him to, hoped he would. She would gladly knock him down a peg or two. After all, he wasn't innocent in any of this.

"Are you a fucking idiot, too, Harry?" she asked when it was clear he wasn't going to say anything. She moved to sit up so she could face Harry and Ron properly. Her hand shook slightly in her lap, under the bedsheets - partly from anger, but mostly because she was still feeling so unwell. "Do I need to explain to you _both_, how much it's hurt us that you've pushed us out, time and time again. Leaving us behind while you go on your missions, offering up less and less information each time. All because - what?" she glared at them both, eyes bright with anger that had been suppressed for too long. "You think we can't handle it? You're protecting us? You think we're too weak now we don't have magic?"

Harry and Ron didn't utter a word, in fact, they could hardly look at her, choosing instead to look at the coffee-coloured chipped walls and the beige holey carpet. Hermione couldn't work out from their expression what they were thinking. Ron looked as though he was on the verge of a complete shutdown, something he did a lot in recent years. He either lost his shit or avoided the situation entirely. She wouldn't be surprised if at some point during the conversation he stormed from the room – in fact, she was amazed he hadn't done so already. Harry looked weary, but that was nothing new. He always looked like that.

It annoyed her, their sudden silence. It left a bitter taste in her mouth and she was powerless against the volatile waves building inside her.

"Have you forgotten who I am?" she gritted, pointing a finger at her chest. "I'm Hermione fucking Granger, the woman who has saved both your arses more times than I can count! You would be _dead_ if it wasn't for me. You would have died a long time ago. Most likely back in first year, that first time you came face to face with Voldemort."

"Hermione -" Harry began, his face paling.

"HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN?" she yelled over him, voice cracking with the effort. She wanted an answer. Needed to hear him say it.

"No," Harry quickly shook his head. "Of course not." Ron pressed his lips tightly together and did the same, though it looked like it pained him to do so. He was stubborn to the core.

"Then why would you treat me like this? Why would you push me away like a useless, old toy? And why would you treat Ginny like this? Ginny, who held her own at Hogwarts while we searched for the Horcruxes. Who was there for you, Harry, when you fell apart and wouldn't talk or eat properly for months. We can stand our ground, have proved as much, over and over again. Yet you still treat us like this. Like we're incapable, helpless women, like you don't need us anymore."

"Hermione, that isn't true!" Harry exclaimed, looking horrified. "I've never thought that about either of you, you are two of the most important people in my life. I don't think you're helpless, not at all. We need you, of course we do. How on earth could you think that?" by the look on his face, Hermione knew he truly had no idea of the magnitude of pain he and Ron had caused, and it made her want to shake him out of pure frustration. She made a note of Ron's silence and filed it away. He could be such a prick sometimes.

"It's all in your actions, Harry," Ginny interjected. "In the way you and Ron are so secretive. You don't tell us anything anymore," she threw her hands up in exasperation. "You're like strangers to us now. I feel awkward being around you. It's nothing like it used to be. I literally don't know you anymore."

Ginny gazed solely at Harry now, something like grim acceptance shadowing her features. "Everything has changed, as much as I hate to say it. It's different now. I've been holding onto the old you, the old _us, _for so long. Hoping we can get back to where we were," she lowered her head and shook it, her fiery hair falling in front of her face. "But I fear it's too late for such things..." she paused, letting her words register.

Hermione briefly closed her eyes - not with surprise, she'd thought the same for a while now - but with sympathy for Harry. Harry who was too lost in his work to see what was really going on around him.

Harry looked away, shaking his head slowly, as if in denial of what Ginny was saying. "I know I've been absent a lot recently," he started, turning back towards her. "But I didn't mean to be secretive and keep things from you. I'm not doing it out of spite, Gin, I swear. I just don't want to stress you out or upset you unnecessarily."

"Harry," she sighed, closing her eyes tiredly. "That is a shit-poor excuse and you know it. We've all been through so much together. We used to share our stress, pain, and grief. What's changed in your eyes? What's different now?" She paused, eyeing him critically. "I know that Hermione and I are hurting for different reasons, yet it's still a pain we share and can sympathise with. She's angry at both of you, you are her best friends, have been for more than half your lives. My pain comes more from our relationship, Harry. The relationship _you've _neglected."

"Gin," he brought his hand up to his mouth and then dropped it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Or you, Hermione," he added, quickly. "I would never intentionally hurt either of you. I know I've been shit and I know I've promised before that I'd do better, but... It's just... I'm..." he stumbled over his words, struggling to articulate how he was feeling. "I'm trying to fix it - this mess. I've failed all of us. When I see us all starving and dying of fucking illness' that could be cured with a potion or a round of antibiotics, it makes me crazy," he gripped his hair and tugged it for emphasis. "_I did this_, it's all my fault! This is why I go on these missions. It's why I've been in the Hub these past days -"

"Don't you think we know that, Harry?" Hermione asked, face crumbling. She hated how he did this, tormented himself. "We know why you do it. We know how you feel. But for God's sake, when are you going to realise that none of this is your fault! None of it was ever your fault. It's maddening that you still feel this way. Voldemort did this, not you -"

"I should have stopped him!" Harry cut in, anguished in a way he didn't let many people see. "He was right there, right there in front of me and I faltered. I fucking froze!"

"Mate..." Ron reached out a hand and gripped his friend's shoulder, offering some comfort. Hermione watched on with a mixture of sadness and relief - sadness that it wasn't the three of them anymore. And relief that they at least had each other, that Ron was a good support system for Harry.

Harry glanced at him, silent words passing between them, and then looked away, dropping his head into his hands. "I'm trying to fix it. I need to fix it," he said, voice muffled.

"At the expense of your loved ones?" Ginny asked. And Hermione could hear the resentment in her tone. The years of grief and heartache.

Harry looked up at her, lips parting, brows lowering. "That's not fair, Gin," he whispered.

"No," Ginny shook her head, nostrils flaring. "What _you're_ doing isn't fair. You need to accept that this is our life now. You need to let go of everything else and try to make the most of what we have. No amount of scouting missions or hostage situations is going to change anything. We lost," she said matter-of-factly, if not a little harshly. "It's time to move on. It's time we_ all_ moved on."

Hermione blinked, trying not to let her surprise show. Ginny had never said anything like this before, not in the hours she and Hermione had spent discussing the 'why's' 'how's' and 'what-ifs' of the war and their missions. She could hardly believe the redhead had even thought it, let alone voiced it. Hermione agreed with what she said to an extent. They were all miserable and it was getting to a point where the Order couldn't help but ask,_ was it all worth it?..._ but to stop missions completely? - which is what Ginny was implying - and move on and accept that this was it, this was how they were going to live the rest of their lives?

_No_. Hermione couldn't, she wouldn't accept it. She'd rather die than accept that this was it.

Hermione knew they couldn't go on as they were now, they needed a complete overhaul, a new strategy. They needed to sit down and replan everything because the current plan was failing miserably.

"I can't believe you just fucking said that," Ron spat at his sister, teeth bared. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Ginny? You want us to just give up? Are you insane?"

Harry didn't utter a word, he looked as though he was too shell-shocked for such things like speaking and breathing.

"No, I'm not insane, Ron!" Ginny yelled, face scrunching up and reddening with rage. "We are dying here! We will all be dust in the wind in a few years' time the way things are currently going. Don't you want to make the most of it and spend whatever time you have left with your loved ones, trying to make it as happy as you possibly can? Or would you rather keep going on these stupid missions and achieving _nothing, _except more disappointment and heartache?"

There was a beat of silence. The type of silence where you could hear a pin drop.

"I would rather keep doing the missions," Harry answered in a flat, dead tone, eyes now void of all emotion, like he'd turned them off with a flick of a switch. "I'd rather die alone out there in the Wastes than here in this manor, pretending everything is fine and I'm happy. At least I'd die knowing I tried everything I possibly could to make things right again."

Ginny stood up in a single, fluid motion, chest heaving, eyes brimming with tears. "Then you go ahead and fucking do that, you selfish bastard!" she screamed at him. She stormed from the room, a sharp sob escaping her as she slammed the door behind her.

Hermione stared at the spot Ginny vacated, her heart heavy in her chest. This was not how she'd expected this to go. She'd expected them to talk about the hostage, she'd expected to find out exactly what Harry and Ron were doing in the Hub, find out where their heads were at. What she hadn't expected was for them to all emotionally implode, and she most certainly hadn't expected Harry and Ginny to break up the way they did - because that's what had happened, right? _Fuck_.

"She's fucking crazy," Ron breathed incredulously. "Maybe she's coming down with a fever too. She's acting completely delusional. Don't pay any attention to her, Harry."

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione snapped, glaring at him. "Stop being such an inconsiderate twat. There's a reason Ginny's feeling this way. Don't brush her off like that."

"Oh, Merlin," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes in disgust. "Don't tell me you agree with that utter tripe."

"No, I don't agree with it," Hermione hissed, resisting the urge to reach across and punch him. "It doesn't mean I don't understand though. She's hurting. She's dealing with it in her own way."

Harry still hadn't uttered a word, his face was blank and, unbelievably, he looked even more weary and withdrawn than he did when he first walked in the room. It seemed to be a theme with all of them these days. They all looked like shit, all had their problems. Hermione sometimes thought that the stress and pressure was killing them more than the food shortage was.

"Look," Hermione began, rubbing both hands over her face tiredly. She wouldn't ask Harry how he was - not right now - she didn't want to draw any more attention to what had just happened. "I need to talk to you both, about this hostage - that's why we are really here after all."

Ron shuffled in his seat and Harry's emerald eyes flicked to her, weariness seeping into them.

"What the hell is going on?" she implored, voice edging towards the whinny side.

_"_Nothing -" Ron began, brown eyes going wide.

"Ron," Hermione interrupted, holding her hand up to stop whatever nonsense was about to come out of his mouth. "Do not say _'nothing'_. Obviously something is going on. What are you hiding?"

"Well, I didn't mean _nothing,_" Ron rolled his eyes impatiently. "What I meant was, you already know what's going on. We're interrogating him, trying to get information about behind the wall. That's it."

"And?" Hermione pushed, hands clenching as she tried to rein in her temper that was rising by the second. "What have you learned so far?"

"Nothing," Ron grumbled, sticking the toe cap of his trainer into a particularly large hole in the carpet. Hermione bit her bottom lip, the urge to lash out at him potent in her veins. If he said _'nothing'_ once more, she was not responsible for her actions. "We're starting to suspect that he couldn't tell us anything, even if he wanted to. He must be jinxed to not reveal anything while outside the confines of the wall."

Hermione blinked. "So, are you going to tell me anything, then?" She demanded, eyes flicking between them both. "Harry, you said you would tell me everything, and so far all I'm getting from you both is a whole lot of nothing – _literally_," she threw her arms up in the air, huffing her annoyance. "Why even agree to come and talk to me if you're not going to tell me anything?" She paused, allowing them the chance to speak up, but as usual, she was met with a wall of silence. "You know, this is an absolute joke. This is what you do all the time. It's exactly like what Ginny and I have been saying. You're just full of empty promises and disappointment."

"We can only tell you what we know," Harry sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He sounded tired and utterly fed-up. "I thought that us just coming up here and chatting to you was better than nothing at all. If I'd told you outside the Hub that we had nothing to tell you, you would have lost your shit."

"Yeah, we can't help that this isn't the information you were hoping for. Don't you think we're disappointed, too?" Ron retorted, angrily. "I mean, bloody hell, Hermione. We picked this guy up four days ago outside of London - Merlin knows what he was doing in the Wastes, he was dressed like he'd just been to a fucking dinner party. We brought him straight back here and have been trying to extract any information we can from him, but he's barely uttered more than a few words at a time - and nothing even remotely useful. We're frustrated too, trust me."

"Fine," Hermione reluctantly acquiesced. "But you could have said that from the start. It's like getting blood from a stone, trying to get anything out of you two," she shook her head, knowing it was futile. They'd always been like this, they weren't going to change now. "So, you think he's jinxed?" she asked, frowning.

They glanced at each other. "Yes," they answered in unison. "He must be," Ron added lowly, a peculiar expression clouding his features.

"OK," Hermione pondered, bringing her index finger up to her puckered lips and tapping them. "And did you figure that out before or after you tortured him?"

Ron blanched and Harry sucked in a shallow breath.

"After," Harry answered, not looking even a little bit guilty. "We're not heathens, Hermione. We wouldn't torture him for no reason."

"Alright. And to get information is reason enough?" Hermione asked, genuinely curious.

"Yes," Harry answered without missing a beat, a small frown puckering his brows. "It is."

"How did you do it?" Hermione fired back, crossing her arms. To Harry and Ron, she probably looked like her usual bossy self, demanding answers. But the act of crossing her arms was more for protection. Protection against what they might say. She couldn't explain why she felt so nervous. Perhaps it was the distance between them that was causing it.

"The details don't matter," Harry bit his lip and gazed down at his clasped hands.

"I think they do," she countered. "Ron?" she turned to the redhead, who was hunched over as if trying to make himself small and unnoticeable. He'd have to try harder than that, he was six-foot-two. "Care to share?"

"Hermione," Harry gritted, fists clenching in frustration. "It doesn't matter. You don't need to know. Just drop it."

"And here we go again with the secrecy! Ironically, the fact that you won't tell me, tells me everything I need to know," Hermione told him, lips pulling back in disgust.

She didn't know how to feel about it, about the fact that they'd tortured another human being. She knew that asking the hostage nicely wasn't going to cut it. She had done some wicked things herself during the war, but that was in self-defence. It was different. There was a difference in capturing someone and torturing them for information... at least, depending on who the person was.

Hermione straightened, her heart speeding up a little as she glanced at Harry and Ron, the wheels and cogs turning in her mind. A single thought echoed, bouncing to and fro, a thought that she really should have considered before now.

"Wait, do we know the hostage?" she asked, eyes narrowed, her voice barely a whisper. Was it someone horrible? Someone who'd done unspeakable things? It would all make sense if it was. It would actually make her feel a lot better about it... Did that make her a bad person? That she was fine with torture, as long as it was someone who she deemed deserved it, did that make her a hypocrite?

Before either Harry or Ron could answer, there was what sounded like a giant clap of thunder. It was so startling and so loud that it shook the manor to its very core.

All three of them bolted upright - Hermione with more difficultly as her duvet caught in her legs – their senses instantly going on high alert. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and steadied herself as a wave of dizziness hit her.

"What the fuck was that?" Ron muttered, brows drawing together with a mixture of confusion and worry.

As if in answer, there was a distant long-drawn-out scream, followed by another and another, until the whole manor was alive with cries and wails.

"_Fuck_," Harry barked. "They're here."

"W-what?!" Hermione gasped, glancing between them, eyes wide as saucers. She kicked the duvet from around her legs. "Who's here? What are you talking about?"

Harry and Ron ignored her and hurtled for the door.

For a second she just stared after them, absolutely dumbfounded, but she quickly gave herself a mental shake and stumbled after them, her socked feet sliding on the carpet.

"Hermione, _no!_" Ron pushed her back into the room. "Stay here. You're not well enough."

"Like hell I'm staying here!" she growled at him. "I'm sick of being left behind. I don't care that I'm ill. I want to see what's going on for myself. After all, I can't trust that you and Harry will tell me," she shoved him out of the way and ran for the stairs, adrenaline pumping through her veins and giving her a much-needed boost She knew she was being unreasonable by refusing to stay behind, but she just couldn't find it in her to care. Harry was nowhere in sight, he was probably halfway to the bottom by now.

She threw herself down the stairs - Ron hot on her heels - tripping and stumbling as she went, passing people who were running up the stairs trying to get away from whatever was happening down below.

Hermione wanted to ask one of them what was going on, but that would mean stopping, and she'd rather just get down there and find out for herself.

Ron overtook her on the second staircase, pleading with her one more time to turn back. She ignored him and continued down, passing more and more people who were sprinting up to safety.

She had a vague - and rather troubling - thought that she had nothing but her fists to defend herself with, as she cleared the final staircase and came to a sudden halt in the long hallway. Harry and Ron were already there, heads whipping about.

Panting, she glanced around, sweeping her eyes down the hallway towards the front door and then back towards the kitchen, surprised to find nothing amiss. The doors to the Hub were firmly closed. And she could see through the archways to the common rooms - and they were empty.

Everything looked as it should, not a thing out of place, other than the small gathered crowd at the base of the stairs who gawked at each other in shock and confusion.

Bill and Charlie were there, as well as George, Lee, Seamus, Dean, Michael, Anthony and Alicia. Hermione wondered where the other members of the Order were. Perhaps some had gone to guard the vulnerable upstairs. She knew a few were still sick with the flu and likely – _wisely -_ thought to stay out of the way rather than cause further hindrance - something she probably should have done herself.

"What happened?" Harry asked no one in particular, his tone deep and authoritative. His gaze swept around wearily like he was waiting for something.

"We don't know," Seamus answered, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "There was a boom and -"

The doors to the front of the house suddenly exploded with a deafening crash, as if they'd been blasted from the _inside _out_,_ fierce, icy-cold wind rushing through the hallway and nearly blowing them all over.

Hermione screamed and gripped hold of the bannister, tendrils of hair ripping from her ponytail. She brought her hand to her throat in equal fear and shock, her fingers digging in, as three hazy figures began striding up the porch steps.

Oh God, _oh God_.

Hermione swallowed and squinted, trying to make out who the intruders were, but the dust was too thick to discern who it was. All she knew was that they were male and _huge_.

"Harry," Hermione breathed, her body trembling with cold. Her fear was a living thing inside her, making her jittery and lightheaded. "Harry, who..." she broke off, the dust finally settling enough that she could make out a head of silvery blond hair and a pair of dazzling grey eyes – grey eyes so beautiful and so stunning they sent a jolt of electricity spearing through her body, making her tingle all over. She'd forgotten the impact of those eyes, how they could snatch her breath away with but a simple glance.

"Potter," came his low cultured voice that sounded so familiar, yet so foreign. "What have you done?" he purred.

"Draco," Hermione managed to gasp, barely taking in the full sight of him, before darkness rushed towards her and she crumpled to the floor.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you all for being so patient with me. It truly means so much. It's been crazy times for all of us, so I know you understand. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please, please, please let me know your thoughts? :D. I hope this chapter doesn't have any formatting issues like the last! FINGERS CROSSED. You'll be glad to know that I'm already 4,000 words into chapter 3 - woohoo! Huge hugs to every single one of you, you guys are awesome xo

Black_Osmosis, you are the best of the best! Thank you for proof-reading this chapter. I'm so glad you're still sticking around with me even though I'm taking forever to write this story, haha. Love and hugs xoxo


End file.
